Wing Commander: Warriors' Pride
by Pope Guilty I
Summary: Repleetah was not a place of honor or glory. It was death incarnate, a legendary battle even to the Kilrathi. One Kilrathi warrior struggles to survive during the waning days of the battle on a journey that will take him from trenches to a new world.
1. Chapter 1

**Warriors' Pride**

**Chapter 1**

**Forward Trench**

**Chandler's Front**

**Repleetah II**

Second Claw Kruq'nov fitted his breather over his toothy muzzle before stepping out of the underground barracks. Exposure to Repleetah's already marginal atmosphere, after orbits of war upon this world, was detrimental to one's health. Given that there were an octave ways to die on this gods-forsaken planet, Kruq'nov was not about to go and kill himself through stupidity. The recruits landing this morning would have ample opportunities to do that.

His own squad was short three warriors, two of which died after their bloodlust got the better of them, and a third was tagged by a Terran sniper. They might be smaller and weaker than a Kilrathi, but those Apes sure could shoot. He request five replacements, expecting at least two of them to go charging into no-man's land and into one of the Ape's infernal ambushes. The Apes were clever too, sneaky little creatures. Certainly not the prey that the Imperial Pride's propagandists keeps dumping on the airwaves. Any cub old enough to stand knew that prey was suppose to die when you attacked it, not fight back for over seven shr'ik.

At the force field that partitioned his barracks from the external atmosphere, Kruq'nov ran into Second Claw Tshruk, a male who has been on this planet a couple of kahr'ik longer than himself. "Fresh meat lands today," he said dryly. Like Kruq'nov, he had little hope for these young cubs that the Empire keeps sending to Repleetah. After a shr'ik of fighting on Repleetah II, the big manes back on the homeworld should know better.

The Battle of Repleetah thus far lasted long than any complete war in the Empire's history. It was by far the longest battle during the Ape War. The battle raged for so long, that Sivar has given it a life of its own. Kruq'nov was not even sure why they were all fighting for this rock. It was no longer useful, its atmosphere and soil being poisoned by constant bombardment of chemical agents. He doubted that even the Emperor knew the value of this world. It probably has some strategic value in this sector ages ago, but no longer. Even the fleets of both combatants have moved on to bigger and better things.

"Care to place a wager on how long these cubs asked?" his comrade offered.

Kruq'nov growled, bearing his teeth. "Gambling's for the hopeful." Unlike most veterans, he first arrived on this rock skeptical, and not as eager as the rest of the veterans, back when they were cubs. He arrived skeptical, was now cynical, and would probably leave the planet in spirit only. His body certainly would never see the light of a different, perhaps less bright, sun. He would not venture to guess how many millions of his race already lay dead, fleshless skeletons, scattered across the fronts of this world.

Both Kilrathi warrior stepped through the curtain and out into the world. Even with breathers filtering the air of deadly toxins, he swore that he could still smell the stench of death permeating the air. It was one of countless trenches that scared the dying planet, deeper than a Kilrathi was tall. The Apes had the advantage in trenches, being smaller. Kruq'nov has seen the inside of more than one Terran trench, and had to move forward at a crouch in some places just to prevent his head from getting blown off. More than a few warriors forgot to duck, and their headless corpses litter many eighties of abandoned trenches.

Even while heading back towards the local landing pad, some four octomaks away from the front, he still carried his rifle. It was a standard pulse rifle, shooting bolts of plasma super-heated half way to fusion, and was tipped with four long spikes. When too close to fire, he could easily impale his enemy with those spears. It was doubly useful on Repleetah, a planet were even exposed claws could absorb poison. During the past eight-and-three raids into Terran trenches, and last two big pushes, all warriors were decked out in full environmental combat suits. He could not even smell the fear of his enemy in those things.

The last eighty of days were relatively quiet. In that time, he need not suit up once. The previous time was during a chemical bombardment, followed by an attempted Terran push, and that was nearly a whole kahr'ik ago. Walking towards the landing pad, he passed many fellow veterans in the trench. All were grizzled, and more than a few sported nasty scars. One even had a prosthetic eye, one that, instead of seeing with natural night vision, could actually detect infrared radiation emitted by all warm-blooded animals. He leaned against the dirt wall of the trench, his own rifle leaning within easy arm reach. The company commander assigned him, with his heat-seeking eye, as a sniper. Tralkar had more than four-eights of marks scratched into the butt of his rifle, one for each Ape killed by his rifle.

He snarled a greeting as Kruq'nov passed, and told him not to bother checking on replacements. They would a be dead in less than eighty days. Kruq'nov agreed wholeheartedly; he did not expect any of them to survive the next eighty of days. Nonetheless, his unit was short three warriors, and he wanted to be at full body count when the storm clouds return to his trench. If the Apes figured out replacements arrived, they would set up one of their insidious traps again. The last ambush killed half the replacements, including all that were allocated to his own squad. Damn Apes and their trickery. He could not blame them; being half the size of a Kilrathi warrior, one had to result to underhanded means to survive.

Survive– once upon a time, Kilrathi warriors on this rock thought of victory. After so many millions dead, and so little gained, warriors dreamed only of surviving Repleetah. He had little time to dwell on his own prospects, as he made good time to the rear area. Amazing how fast one could walk during the dry season. When the rains fall, not only are they now toxic, but they turn the floors of the trenches into a soup of morass and glue. Boots sink to the ankles, and sap a warrior's strength as they tried to pull them free. Two things were certain after a good rain; one's feet would get stuck, and the Apes would attack. They apparently had little trouble moving through the quagmire.

The local landing pad was built on solid concrete. Engineers built this thing, basing it on designs off Kilrah. One thing the homeworld seldom had to deal with was rain. The concrete was cracked in many places, and dead weeds sprouted from those cracks. Given enough time, they could have grown into trees, and broken the landing pad further. The shuttle upon the pad was a small one, nothing like the monestrous invasion craft that put down on this planet ages ago. The two shuttles sat on the pad, their angles looking fierce. The cockpit windows looked like demonic eyes staring him down. The razor sharp hatch was already down, and a stream of lost looking recruits took their first steps upon Sivar's dungeon.

These replacements at least had sense enough to wear breathers. More than once, a recruit would tumble to the ground after taking in an unprotected breath of the atmosphere. All were squeaky clean, a condition Kruq'nov had began to believe was but a fable. Their packs were clean and in one piece, and their rifles looked as if they have never seen action off a shooting range. Unlike bladed weapons, all Kilrathi warriors required days worth of target practice to shoot straight. It was a field of ground combat the Apes would always be ahead of the Empire. When a Terran behind a pulse rifle wanted you dead, you were.

All of those who debarked looked little more than cubs. Kruq'nov thought back to his own first day on Repleetah, and decided that he was never so young. One caught his attention. One of the last to debark the shuttle, and looked around as if he sought out his Pride. Not the one he conquered, but the one he was born into. He was so young that his mane had no even fully developed. That was hardly a distinguishing mark, since most replacements were still youths, with a few kahr'ik to go before they have a mane as magnificent as Kruq'nov.

The cub must be straight out of the house and into the army. He held his rifle shouldered, just as they teach recruits in basic. Kruq'nov snorted. The way they teach, he wondered if the instructors ever seen combat with the Apes. It would be a good four seconds before the cub could aim his weapon, which would give the Apes three seconds to kill him. No matter; he needed replacements, and he might be able to make something out of this one– assuming he has not been brainwashed by periodical doses of propaganda that the Imperial Pride called news.

Kruq'nov approached. "What's your name, soldier?" he asked in a fierce growl. It was the sort of growl that all Second Claws developed before they were promoted to the rank. His own squadron commander on Repleetah was the same way, though his face carried far more scars. He was either more veteran than Kruq'nov is now, or just not as careful. Seeing how he has been dead for over a kahr'ik, he decided on the later.

The cub halted and came to rigid attention. Kruq'nov's voice left no doubt who was in charge. He shot off a perfect parade-ground salute, which Kruq'nov casually replied. "I am called Warrior Nrsah nar Ch– er– Warrior Nrsah, lord commander."

"Second Claw," Corrected Kruq'nov almost laughing. Lord commander? His blood was not thick enough, or inbred enough, to be a lord. Nor was he head of any Pride. He was correct in his earlier assessment; Nrsah was fresh out of the house, so fresh he still wished to use his birth name. "I need replacements, and you're one of them. Gather four of your comrades and report to me. I'll be your new squadron commander. Follow me back to the barracks and I'll get you all orientated and settled in. Maybe even wash off some of that propaganda newscasters excrete."

Nrsah blinked at him. "As you command, Second Claw. Anything else?"

Kruq'nov smiled. It was not a friendly smile, but a bitter and predatory one. "Yes; Welcome to the underworld."

**Barracks**

**Chandler's Front**

**Repleetah II**

Kruq'nov knew it was but a matter of time before the Apes learned about the replacements. This time, more than two days have passed. It was slow for them. Whomever was on watch must have fallen asleep on his feet. Too bad he did not know that two days ago; a good raid would have lifted the dreadful monotony that smothered the trenches. Warfare was suppose to be glorious, not days worth of boredom punctuated by a few moments of sheer excitement and terror. Kruq'nov sat up against the wall upon a cushion he took during one of his raids on the Terran lines. The Apes sure were soft if they used this for bedding. Now that did not mean it was not comfortable, especially compared to the stone wall his back leaned against.

While cleaning his rifle, he kept one eye on the replacements. As he predicted, they were thoroughly convinced of their own superiority and that the Apes are nothing more than prey beasts, to be cut down where they stood. Kruq'nov could only shake his head at such foolishness. They will learn that Repleetah is a great equalizer; it butchers all sides equally. They will learn, that is if they live long enough. Of the five replacements, the youngest, Nrsah, had the most potential. His mind was still young enough that Kruq'nov could mold into a respectable soldier. The other four– no, there was little point in thinking about them. They would be dead soon enough.

A slight stab in his left arm brought down his right hand upon it. His claws searched through his short and dense forearm fur to find the culprit. The tiny bug crawled deftly from hair to hair. The Second Claw quickly ended the creatures life with the slash of a claw. Kruq'nov looked up from his rifle and arm, and sought out the barrack's engineer. Krenka stood against the wall, his chin resting on his chest. His hair and mane had a distinct reddish hue, giving him an alien look among the mostly golden haired warriors of this barracks.

"Krenka!" Kruq'nov roared loud enough to shake his own mane. "The curtain is on the blitz again. Fix it before it lets in something more annoying than fleas."

His ears perked up at the sound of his name, and Krenka slowly raised his head, shooting Kruq'nov a look of supreme indifference. "Nonsense. You probably caught those things when you went outside."

Kruq'nov glowered at him. "You spawn of a rodent! Nothing can live in the trenches." Not any more. He remembered when the Terran vermin called rats use to infest the trenches. Now days, they have only a few enclaves within shielded barracks. Annoying little creatures, with their squeaking, but they were far better eating than the rations the army gave him.

Krenka bared his teeth. "Those Sivar-cursed parasites can! I think nothing short of a direct hit from a fusion bomb would exterminate them. The only thing worse are cockroaches, and they _can_ survive nuclear warfare."

Typical parasites, surviving anything that would easily kill the host. If these fleas did get in, perhaps they came in on the backs of rats. Rare were the days when any creature could be seen outside and not be seen choking. He decided to lift himself off his cushion and search for any potential snacks running around on four legs. He worried not about anyone taking his seat; the last soldier who tried lost half his ear in the fight. Kruq'nov has not seen that soldier in a while, and assumed he was one of the anonymous dead littering the planet's surface.

He began his search, only to be interrupted by a commotion on the other side of the atmospheric curtain. All the replacements quickly leapt to the feet, grabbing rifle and slipping on breather, before rushing outside. Kruq'nov shook his head, grabbing his own weapon. Stupid cubs; it was probably the Apes trying to bait the inexperienced out into no-man's land. He slipped on his own breather across his muzzle and followed them outside. He might not be able to smell his enemy while wearing the mask, but at least he could not smell the reek of his own kind. Nothing makes a Kilrathi male want to kill more than being locked up with several other males for days on end.

As with so many times before, three of his replacements, as well as those from other squadrons, have already gone over the top. Nrsah was about to join them, both hands and a foot on the ladder, before Kruq'nov could stop him. The Second Claw ran to the cub, grabbed him by the scruff of his neck, and threw him to the ground. The cub landed with a thud in the dry caked earthen floor. He looked up quizzically, as well as slightly menacing, at his squadron commander.

Kruq'nov decided to let the disrespect slide. The Terrans killed enough of his warriors for him to take out any martial reprisals. "It's a trap," he told Nrsah in a flat, as-matter-of-factly tone. Kruq'nov offered the young warrior a hand. "Get up. Watch and learn how these Apes play."

Nrsah took the offered hand, and Kruq'nov jerked him to his feet, as if he was little more than a sack of jerky. "Second Claw, they are only prey, What is their to learn, other than more effective ways to kill them. I did not enlist to sit in a trench while others gain glory."

This time, Kruq'nov did laugh. It was a dark and sinister laugh, one that a cub of Nrsah's age might only hear in a horror movie. Sivar damn those propagandist back home. They probably killed more cubs than the Terrans. "Answer me this, Nrsah; if the Apes are nothing but prey, then why were they not slaughtered before either of us were born? Or even before your own father was born?"

"But, they are prey," Nrsah spoke back, as if that one sentence contained all the answers.

Kruq'nov shook his head. "Have you ever hunted a Terran creature called a boar? No? I didn't think so. They are prey too. But they have razor sharp tusks, and when cornered, they can eviscerate a predator. The Apes are the same, but they are cunning. They are sneaky. And their weapons are superb. Stick your head out of the trench at the wrong time, and one of their snipers will remove it. Never sell short your enemy. It could be the last mistake you ever make." Kruq'nov glanced up at the rim of the trench. With an ambush in the works, the Terran snipers were probably watching it as well. Not to shoot, but for its entertainment value.

"It should be safe for now," he said, poking his own head above the trench. When he was still breathing a few seconds later, he decided he was right. "I told you to look and learn!"

Nrsah slowly climbed the ladder high enough to see the rest of the world. The land that lay between opposing trenches could have been scooped off an airless moonlet and dropped on Repleetah. Octaves of craters, many as big as a Kilrathi, lay scattered in completely random patterns. A whole campaign's worth of artillery bombardment destroyed the planet's already fragile soil. Nothing would grow here again, not without intensive reclamation, or millions of orbits of natural healing.

As with so many times before, a pair of Terrans moved back towards their own lines, slowly and deliberately limping. Kruq'nov knew it was a ruse. They tried this shortly after he landed. Most on his replacement shuttle took the bait, and were killed. He did not. Even at the time, when he was just skeptical and not cynical, he knew something did not smell right about the situation. Why would Apes be out in the open like that?

The current batch of replacements— cannon fodder, did not think this. They had so little regard and respect for the Apes, that they have strapped their rifles to their back and were running them down. Not on two feet, like warriors would face off, but on all four, the way a Kilrathi would run down fleeing prey. It gave them greatly more speed, but took away their unnatural weapons. This was not an announced push, so the cubs were not wearing full E-suits, not like the Terrans. They had sense enough to do so.

Even if they had, they would still be dead. Kruq'nov has seen even veteran warriors reflexively extend their claws and tear their suits. That was why he fought hand-to-hand with the blades on his rifle. Keeping the enemy distant helped him control his own blood-lust. Terrans took full advantage of that as well. Any offense a Kilrathi warrior could throw at them, the clever Apes had a defense.

Both he and Nrsah watched as one Terran stumbled and fell, only to be picked up by his comrade. Kruq'nov knew it a ploy, one they have used often enough. Other veterans watched the spectacle, a few even laughed at the foolishness of the cubs. Yes, really fun watching all those sought after replacements throw their lives away. The three from his squad that leapt after them, Kruq'nov had not even learned their names. He gave up trying to match faces to names until after the recruits survived their first battle.

Halfway between the trenches, both Terrans went down a second time, this time into a crater. The recruits continued their pursuit, not even noticing the two-eights of Terrans popping up, eight on each of their sides, and opened up on them with their assault rifles. Plasma pulses at point-blank range seared the flesh of bones, and vaporized large portions of the replacements. All the cubs were dead in seconds.

With the Apes exposing themselves, Kruq'nov brought his rifle to shoulder level and decided to take a few shots at them. He squeezed off a burst of ionized gas, missing the Terrans, but catching their attention. Nrsah mimicked his Second Claw, taking his own careful aim at the Terrans. A beam rifle would be a more precise weapon at this range, or even an auto cannon. Nothing like hypersonic projectiles to turn flesh from living to dead. Within seconds, his whole section of the trench opened up on the Apes in no-man's land. The section's auto cannon went to work, chewing up the land around the Apes.

About an octomak away, the Terran trenches began to return their own ranged fire, attempting to cover their own people's retreat. Kruq'nov watched with some satisfaction as three Terran ambushers went down, one in several pieces. He only hoped it was not the Ape Second Claw, or whatever they called the rank, Mac'Fearson. He was a sly one, an excellent leader of raids. If anybody in this trench would kill that Ape, it would be Kruq'nov. He only hoped they went hand-to-hand. It would be a great honor to kill such a warrior in single combat.

Almost as suddenly as it started, the firefight ended. Kilrathi climbed down from the rim of the trench and went back to their daily business. Nrsah looked up at Kruq'nov, disbelief on his face. He had just survived his first firefight. "I never imagines the Apes fight so fiercely. They fought like–"

"Warriors?" Kruq'nov offered. Nrsah bobbed his head in agreement. "You don't need to imagine, you simply need to accept it. What they lack in brute force, they make up in cunning. Stop thinking of the Apes as prey, and start thinking of them as enemies. You do that, and you might even survive this place." Kruq'nov would not tell a replacement that there was no hope for victory on Repleetah. Only survival.

War was not what Nrsah expected. When he was growing up, he saw war on the viewer through war movies as well as the news media. War was suppose to be glorious, warriors locked in mortal combat, and Kilrathi running down their prey. A brotherhood of warriors standing victorious over the vanquished Terran Confederation. The daily news always showed victory after victory over the Confederation, as the prey was gradually worn down. He only saw warrior celebrating over the corpses of the dead.

He never expected the reality was as such. Before enlisting in the army, he only scant heard of Repleetah. It was in the news some shr'ik ago, before he was even born. It was a glorious battle as armies numbering in the millions slugged it out for dominance. Over the following kahrik, Repleetah vanished from the news and the public conscience. Nobody thought much of it, assuming either victory, or since it vanish so quickly, defeat. To have a battle drag on for so many sh'rik, it was unthinkable.

Instead of glory, Nrsah spent most of the nroth trudging through trenches, ankle deep in mud since a downpour the previous day turned it into a quagmire. Mud stuck to his boots, and clogged anything dropped into it. He never imagined war would involve sitting in these ditches, in squalor and mud like– like a bunch of Apes. The Kilrathi were suppose to be on the surface, in the sun, basking in glory. Nrsah looked over at Kruq'nov, who marched in front of him. If not for his Second Claw, Nrsah might be at this very moment, decomposing under the star Repleetah. Several other young soldiers, eager to prove themselves in battle, met that fate. Another batch of replacements arrived shortly after his own. The Apes sprang the same trap upon them, drawing out nearly half of the batch and slaughtering them in the field. Nrsah scored his first kill that day, picking off one of the Terran from a great distance with his rifle. It was a kill, but a hollow one. He wondered how pilots and naval personnel handled their own kills, being far more impersonal than that.

Several grizzled veterans stood around in the trenches. Like most of the older warriors, they ignored Nrsah. They did not ignore Kruq'nov, instead they acknowledged him with a nod. The warriors looked like they belonged in the gutter, like landless Prides in large cities. They were filthy, fur matted and caked with dirt. All wore breathers when outside along with thick, long-sleeved uniforms to help keep the residual toxins off their skin. Their uniforms had not seen a cleaning station in ages, and only their high quality manufacturing kept them from long since turning into rags.

The thin slot of sky he could see above was swarming with clouds. In the atmosphere, much of the toxins both side have fired at each other over the sh'rik, have merged with the natural clouds, creating fogs of death. About the only good thing that could be said, was that when the fog descended, it killed off the vermin in the trenches. Fleas were a nasty surprise for the young warrior. Kruq'nov just shrugged them off with indifference when Nrsah mentioned them. They were a fact of life on this planet.

His Second Claw was an odd sort of warrior. He always pictured non-commissioned officers as the most excited of warriors, having to inspire and lead their squads through their own force of will. Kruq'nov had a great will, but he was not as enthusiastic as the drill instructors. He did not yell or slash at any under his command, not without a good reason. He walked tall, and full of pride. So many planetary orbits in the trenches has filled his stride with the supreme confidence. His face was full of scars, displaying his experience better than any Imperial Army record.

As they rounded one of the many corners in the forward trenches, Nrsah confirmed yet again that nothing phased Kruq'nov. Lying on the ground before them was a dead warrior, with part of his head missing. Victim of an Ape sniper. The thought caused his blood pressure to rise. It was one thing to be killed in open combat, but quite another to be picked off from afar. Kilrathi soldiers were forced to adopt sniper tactics to hunt down Terran snipers. After a closer look at the corpse, he recognized the sniper.

It was Tralkar, the Kilrathi sniper with the electronic eye. No soldier in this trench had killed as many of the Apes as Tralkar. Just this morning, Nrsah and a few other surviving replacements sat around the mess, not enjoying the dried meat rations, and listening to the old warrior's tales. He had bested many of the Apes at their own game, defeating several in sniper duels. He was more bitter and cynical than Kruq'nov, if that were even possible, and did not even attempt to hide his own despair. He made it clear, and not just in words, that he did not plan to survive this world.

Nrsah noticed all the veterans had that aura around them, one of hopelessness. There was only war and death, and in the end it was how many Terrans you took with you that counted. The tale he spun this morning was how he tracked down an ace sniper, a Terran who was said to have killed more than an eighty of Kilrathi warriors. It was a hard hunt, and the way Tralkar told the story, he strongly believed sniping was like hunting. The Ape was a tricky one, but Tralkar finally tracked him down the day that the regional commander inspected the forward trenches. It was too tempting of a target for the Ape to pass up, and Tralkar took his head clean off with a single shot.

Now, a sniper had done in Tralkar, removing only part of his head. More than likely, his own rifle deflected part of the shot. Not that it did him much good, not now. Nrsah looked down at the dead sniper with a great sense of loss, and greater sense of waste. A soldier like Tralkar should have had a warrior's death, going down with claws extended and his fangs in an Ape's throat. Kruq'nov stopped his own march when he realized that he lost Nrsah. He glanced back over his shoulder at the young soldier. When Nrsah looked back at him, questioning, Kruq'nov could only hiss in indifference. It was a typical response to death by the veterans; better him than me.

"How could he be killed?" Nrsah asked himself, his voice quiet.

Not too quiet, for Kruq'nov picked up every word. "The Apes probably had two snipers out, and where hunting him. They always have a backup, using one for bait and the other to make the kill." Kruq'nov spoke with a detached tone, as if he did not care. That angered Nrsah as much as the death. If he was not his immediate superior, as well as vastly more experienced, Nrsah would have a few choice words with Kruq'nov for his aloofness.

Instead, he turned his anger towards the Terrans. "Those animals. They will pay for this." His words were ended with a dull pain slammed into the top of his head, like a hammer coming down on an anvil. At first, he thought the Apes were attacking, but when he saw Kruq'nov standing in front of him, his hand balled into a fist, he knew the truth.

"Young fool!" Kruq'nov snapped. "How many times do I have to tell you, never sell the Apes short, and never treat them like anything less than what they are. They are cunning and competent soldiers, and the moment you forget this, they _will_ kill you."

Nrsah bowed before his Second Claw. "Of course, Second Claw. I forget myself."

Kruq'nov nodded. "You want revenge, it is understandable. We all want a piece of the Apes' snipers. May Sivar spit on their graves. Now come, young one, there is nothing you can do for Tralkar. He is dead, and is going to remain that way for the foreseeable future."

Nrsah obeyed without a further word. He remained silent, but his thoughts were of the next raid.

The first explosion jolted Kruq'nov from his light sleep. His claws were around his pulse rifle before his eyes were fully opened. That was a close hit; any closer and it might have come straight through the roof of his bunker. It was the first explosion, but not the last. By the third explosion, every warrior in the barracks was alert and ready for a fight. Kruq'nov developed an intense hatred for shelling. Was it just the Apes meddling in psychological warfare, trying to keep them up at nights. Was it prelude to a raid, or prelude to an actual push. It has been quite some time since the enemy tried any serious offensive move.

"Breathers on!" Kruq'nov roared, and all the warriors under his command immediately obeyed. Nrsah was by his side, ready and eager to fight. The cub held up well during his brief stay on this Gods forsaken planet. He heard that some Apes speak of a horrendous afterlife of eternal torment. After his stay on Repleetah II, Hell sounds like an improvement.

With only one entry from the trench into the barracks, all eyes and rifles were upon the forcefield that kept out the noxious air. For once, Kruq'nov did not have to wait long for an answer. The plasma window flickered twice, than failed altogether. "Take cover!" he barked, along with the other Claws within the room.

Eights of Kilrathi took cover behind beds, crates and anything that could take the blow of Terran weapons. The first ape through the door, fully encased in a combat environmental suit, showed his diminutive form. Their size was very misleading. Terran were small, but deadly, not that this particular Ape would get the chance to prove it. Two eights of pulse rifles brought him down in a mess of melted ceramics.

After the first Ape fell, two more appeared, throwing grenades in ahead of them. They were strong throwers, and one of the grenades went over his head. Both exploded with effect, bringing down warriors in a hail of curses and snarls. The explosions kept warriors' heads down long enough for eight Terrans to storm in and open up on the survivors. Kruq'nov kept his head down behind a steel crate and fired blindly around the corner. Nrsah followed suit. The cub learned very fast, which was why he was still alive. There was little point in aiming when the Apes would kill you before you could fire.

"Fall back!" came an order, and Kruq'nov slowly kept back from his cover. The barracks was more than a single room carved into the earth. He and Nrsah made their way back kitchen, under the covering fire of his fellow Kilrathi.

The kitchen was seldom used anymore, what with so little decent food being shipped in from off-world. Nothing larger than those Terran rats could be found running wild, and they were too small to worry about cooking. The unit set up a crossfire over the kitchen's entrance. If this was a real offensive, then Kruq'nov would sell his own life dearly. If the Apes want this forward trench, it will cost them two of their own for every Kilrathi they slay.

The Apes did not immediately follow up their attack. Maybe it was just another raid. Kruq'nov lived through enough of those. With the initial shock of the attack over, his bloodlust built up, sending his instincts into a frenzy. He glanced around the kitchen, seeing warriors taking cover behind overturned tables and behind stoves and freezers. He could tell by their hunched stance that every muscle in their bodies was tight, ready for the pounce.

"What are they waiting for?" Nrsah asked, his own bloodlust making him impatient.

Kruq'nov considered for a second. "Might be waiting for us to come streaming out with claws beared and weapons blazing."

"Then we should give it to them!" one of his other warriors roared.

Kruq'nov's bloodlust was high, but it did not turn him into a fool. "That's exactly what the Apes want, you fool! They have our door bracketed, and would cut us down before we could sink are teeth into their throats."

Like all soldiers in all armies, across space and time, Kruq'nov detested the waiting. The Terrans were cautious, with only one sticking his head through the door way. He was rewarded by having it removed by a carefully aimed blast. The pulse of plasma soared over the head of Kruq'nov. He grinned in approval at Nrsah's marksmanship. It was an excellent shot, right through the visor. The older warrior just hoped that his young comrade did not kill Mac'Fearson. Kruq'nov reserved the honor killing such a formidable foe for himself. He knew exactly what trench that Ape dwelt within; too bad he knew not where these raiders came from.

Ahead, two Kilrathi pressed their backs against the stone wall of the kitchen. Like all habitats, it was dimly lit in the blood red light of the homeworld. Kilrathi eyes, no matter what planet they were born upon, easily adapted to it. The Apes, with their bright light eyes, had a much harder time seeing in it. Not that it mattered on Repleetah, not with the optical systems built into those E-suits. The Kitchen was warm too, as warm as a Kilrathi's body, making Terran infrared sensors useless.

Both bold warriors, Kruq'nov would call them foolhardy, leaned around the doorway and opened up upon all within. After seconds of intensive firing, both warrior eased up on the triggers and roared in frustration. "They're gone!"

Kruq'nov was skeptical. Must be facing the Terran Army, for the Marines had an obsession with not leaving their dead behind. It was a tradition that predated the war, so fear of having comrades eaten must not be the reason. It was almost religious for them. They would even retrieve the dead at the risk of losing perfectly healthy warriors. Kruq'nov would never throw lives away to bring back the dead; wounded perhaps, but never the dead.

Kruq'nov stood up and cautiously approached. Though he never expected to leave this planet alive, or at all, he was not eager to do something stupid. He passed both warriors and emerged fully into the ransacked barracks, his rifle at the ready. He swept the muzzle across his full arc of visibility, spotting no Apes, living or dead. In fact, the one Nrsah killed seemed to be the only one left.

He frowned at the sight of his barracks as a total wreck. Pallets were smashed, crates opened, a few computers missing. Surely the Apes did not attack just for that. If so, then the Confederation on Repleetah has surely grown sloppy, and now was the time for the offensive. Unless their goal was to mine the place. Kruq'nov called over his shoulder. "The Apes are gone. Get on out here and start sweeping for bombs." Part of Kruq'nov, the part drunk of killing, wanted to storm out into the trench and kill any Ape he could find. "After that, we sweep the trench for mines." Kruq'nov better get hold of his unit's headquarters, in the likely case that the HQ was the raider's true target.


	2. Chapter 2

**Warriors' Pride**

**Chapter 2**

**Forward Trench**

**Chandler Front**

**Repleetah II**

Of all the tasks Nrsah had not thought of when he enlisted, the constant cleaning of equipment ranked high up as one of the most tedious. He understood the need to keep weapons and environmental suits in working order, at least he did intellectually. What boggled his mind was the amount of time he spent cleaning proportional to how much he spent killing. War was suppose to be about killing the enemy, about taking what rightfully belonged to a Kilrathi. The movies he watched as a youth, they never showed just how much hurrying up and waiting was involved in warfare.

Aside from the occasional firefight over the rim of the trenches, there was little in the way of action. Like the Second Claw, he too witnessed a recent batch of replacement go roaring out into no-man's land. He also witnessed them getting cut down by an Ape ambush. He shuddered to think that he would have fallen into the trap if not for Kruq'nov. Ok, he saw that the Apes were clever and devious, but it was not until the raid upon his line of the trench did he discover just how well they fought in a stand up fight.

"It still don't make any sense," he muttered, bearing his fangs for the whole world to see.

"What are you grumbling about now?" Kruq'nov asked. The Second Claw squat next to Nrsah in the recently repaired barrack. Repaired in the sense that the atmospheric curtain was back in working order. He scrubbed away at the nooks and crannies of his rifle with a small brush. He took it off a dead Terran during some push, a couple of Kahrik back. The Apes called it a tooth brush. It made a certain amount of sense to Nrsah; with such puny and flat teeth, they certainly could not clean them with a good, solid bone.

"That raid," Nrsah said. He need not specify which one, like the other veterans, for he only experienced this last one. He paused before continuing. Veteran. When did he become one of them? His time on Repleetah has thus far been short, but the planet had a way of making cubs grow up real fast. Who would have though; Nrsah among the honored known as veterans. That would get the attention of the females– the young ones anyway.

He shook the thoughts from his head. Not the best place or time to be thinking of the Queens. For one thing, his mane was pitifully scraggly compared to the majestic golden collar around Kruq'nov's head. Back to the matter at hand— "I've learned the Apes are smart, and never do anything without reason. Yet, their raid seemed pointless. They could have killed up all with a good push, yet they abandoned the battle." Utter foolishness.

Kruq'nov growled in indifference. "From what I hear, some files vanished from regimental headquarters, along with one of our Lord Officers," he added a sharp scorn to the last two words. "Looks like the Apes just wanted a prisoner to interrogate." Neither warrior knew if the officer was dead or alive. Kruq'nov had told him that Terran rules of warfare prevented the outright killing of prisoners.

Nor did they eat their captives. Kilrathi usually did not either, but in a pinch, the prisoners were food. Nrsah wondered if Terrans tasted anything like the rats from their homeworld. He quickly discovered those rodents, when cooked, were far superior tasting to the dried meat rations that every Kilrathi soldier tolerated. He thanked Sivar and every other God he could think of that Terrans were not as prolific as their rodents, otherwise they would swamp the Empire in sheer numbers. Nothing short of a week long bombardment with one of the Apes' nasty chemical weapons would take out the rat population. Even after losing the atmosphere for several days, the rat population still clung on inside the barracks.

As Nrsah went back to work checking filters and seals on his E-suit, Kruq'nov spoke. "As much as everybody's cleaning their gear, there must be some truth to the rumors."

Nrsah nodded. He heard the same stories up and down the trenches, that a push, or at least a big raid, was in the works. He hoped it was true, but Nrsah had long since learned that rumors were like raids and counter-raids; just part of the cycle of life and death upon Repleetah II.

**No-man's Land**

**Chandler Front**

**Repleetah II**

Kruq'nov, along with octaves of other warriors, slithered across the barren and charred land upon his belly. It was not that difficult, since any Kilrathi worthy the name can already run upon all fours. Still, as a warrior, he would prefer in his blood to stand and fight. As a veteran of many kahrik upon this Sivar-cursed world, he knew better than to expose his head. Stalking forward like so might remind him too much of females stalking prey, but as long as he was not the only one, it was not a bother.

What did bother him was that this stalking might put the idea into some his comrades' head, especially the younger ones, that the Apes are nothing but prey to be pounced upon. Anyone who thought that was either a newcomer or dead. He glanced through the faceplate of his combat environmental suit towards his left, remembering the day Nrsah arrived, and how he almost fell for that Ape ambush. He might have been a cub freshly expelled from his birth Pride when he arrived, but a whole kahrik upon this abysmal world matured him fully.

Overhead, the screams of octaves upon octaves of shells flew carelessly through the air. The sound of the end of the world filled his ears. He bared his teeth at the thought. Hopefully, it was the end of the world in the Terran trenches. Sure, he wanted to get up close and kill the Apes in plain view, but he would not shed a tear if everyone of those accursed combat drones was destroyed. With soldiers, you could wound them and that would bring them to a halt. The drone– he could have blown away all three of their legs and exposed weapons, but they would still explode if any warrior drew too close.

Though he hoped, he knew better than to depend upon them being destroyed. The shells that artillery flung over the trenches were primitive devices; simple explosives encased in low-grade metals. In space, or even against some of the Apes' better ground vehicles, they would be useless. Infantry in trenches was another matter. No matter how ancient these shell may be, fist-sized chunks of steel, lead or whatever they are made of, will tear any exposed soldier in two, E-suit or not. As long as none fell short, he had nothing to fear from them.

Land mines were another story. Again, shells would destroy them, and no-man's land got a good working over before the warriors in his unit went over the top. That still did not mean they were gone. Not by a long shot. Any warrior luckless enough to crawl over one, would soon find himself very high in the air, and very scattered across the landscape. E-suits were little protection against them. Come to think of it, E-suits only protected one from hostile environments, or those so utterly poisoned as to not make a difference. Repleetah was already a marginal world before it was invaded. Afterwards– assuming there ever was one– it would not be worth having.

As he crept towards the lip of the Apes' trench, Kruq'nov's bloodlust was high in anticipation. He fought to keep his claws retracted. It would not do well to puncture his gloves and expose his fingers to whatever deadly gas the warring parties were tossing back and forward this day. Instead, he clenched his hands around his rifle. His eyes darted to and fro through the dust. As the shelling gradually crept ahead, it left behind not only death and destruction, but a cloud of dust. The HUD of his helmet switched over to infrared.

Kruq'nov, Nrsah and all the warriors in this push came to a halt, awaiting the shelling to move on further and orders to pounce. It was not a raid, but a true offensive, the first in over a kahrik. His young comrade was not even on the planet when the last one happened. Not that he missed out on much; the Apes came forward and captured a couple of trenches, only to lose them during a Kilrathi counterattack. A lot of warriors died that day, and for what? So some scion could claim glory, or some Ape officer to actually have something to report back to his own HQ. That was the way of war on Repleetah. Back and forth, glory and death for all.

The death party he saw readily, but never the glory. He knew that plenty of Prides received news that their scions died in glorious combat for the Emperor and for Kilrah. How many of those mothers actually believed it any more was anybody's guess. Kruq'nov certainly did not. The cub he took under his wing was starting to see the same. Sure, Nrsah still saw glory in combat, but has long since learned that Repleetah is not combat. It is a butcher's shop, plain and simple.

With abruptness that brought his ears straight up, the bombardment had ceased. A high-pitch whistle chimed in his helmet, as well as all those warrior on the front of this offensive. Without verbal orders, octaves of warriors on either side of Kruq'nov leapt with him in unison into the Apes' trench. The younger warriors expected to see mangled bodies of Terrans strewn across the landscape. Kruq'nov was like that once, but soon learned that low-tech shrapnel, while just as lethal as any plasma weapon, did little to kill entrenched enemies.

He landed with the agility of any predator, and quickly traversed his plasma rifle to his left and right. The only Apes visible were the few dead ones. Like his own kind, the Apes would soon rouse from slumber within their own bunkers. He, along with three other nearby warriors, aimed their weapons at the nearest atmospheric curtain. As soon as the blast door slid open, all four opened up at the protective barrier. It was designed to keep out poisons and keep in atmosphere, not to withstand ionized pulses. As the barrier fluctuated, one of the warriors tossed in a grenade, which detonated with a low thump. Any Apes near the blast door controls were dead.

With the curtain down, and the polluted air of Repleetah flowing freely, Kruq'nov lead the charge into the bunker. He knew not if this was the one of his sworn nemesis, and only Terran to come close to an equal in his eyes. He did not think much of it. When storming an enemy position, his mind was void of most thoughts and his honed warrior instincts took over. He threw himself to his right before even consciously seeing the Ape fire at him. On Repleetah, there was the quick and the dead. The warrior behind Kruq'nov was not so quick, and now joined the ranks of honored dead. Kruq'nov did not have time to wonder what sort of weapon it was, but knew it was powerful but the way it sliced through his comrade's E-suit as if it were cloth. Plasma rifles could not penetrate so easily, or cleanly. Not that he saw anything clean about having a warrior's guts blasted out of his back and shredded to pet meal.

Kruq'nov took aim at the Terran, only to have glimpsed him taking cover. He had raided these trenches enough times during his tour of duty to know they connect to each other underground, as well as via trenches. He poked his head from cover long enough to let out a short burst from his rifle. One Terran was hit. Unlike the Kilrathi, the Terrans wore only breathers to keep from instantly dying. Their cloth uniforms did nothing to halt shots as hot as the sun. Where the Ape's heart had once been was a neatly cauterized hole. He bared his teeth savagely as he watched the Apes pull back further into their bunkers, the same way they forced his own barracks to do some days prior.

With this room secured, he glanced around to take stock of his forces. As Second Claw, he was more than likely to outrank these simple warriors. He saw no officer E-suits in the room, nor did he notice Nrsah. The cub must be in the next bunker over. With a good push from both sides, they should meet up further into the network.

"Form a parameter!" Kruq'nov growled out the order. The forces now under his immediate command numbered eight-and-seven, almost two squads worth of warriors. Six of them snarled acknowledgments and moved back to set up control over the entrance as well as the length of trench beyond. With no Apes rushing in from behind, Kruq'nov knew this section of the front was now under Imperial claws.

Kruq'nov took a moment to listen to the comm chatter in his helmet. Other Second Claws, as well as some junior officers reported their own stretches secured. None had yet to push further than the outermost bunkers, instead opting to await further command. It was a good call in his eyes; if the Kilrathi charged in piecemeal, only the Apes would benefit from it. He had seen enough pointless combat on this world to last several lifetimes, and wanted nothing more than to make this victory permanent. Perhaps that was not the whole truth. What Kruq'nov really wanted was to get off this rock and return to a properly civilized world. Perhaps one where a male could take a deep breath without keeling over.

The wait for a push was short, giving Kruq'nov enough time to double-check his weapons and inspect his suit for damage. He received no hits, and only one in the bunker was killed. Other warriors did the same, checking the backs of each others' suits. A young cub, arriving on the load of replacements after Nrsah, checked Kruq'nov's suit. "All is well, Second Claw," he said in jovial tones. Kruq'nov smiled. Yes, nothing put fire into the heart like being on the offensive.

"You're clean, warrior," Kruq'nov replied in kind as he went over the life support equipment on the young warrior's back. Nothing was damaged. In fact, it appeared as if the suit was fresh from the factory. Probably was, in a sense. Since the younger warriors had arrived, there had been no battle requiring full environmental suits.

The wait to continue the push was short, yet still long enough to bring out restlessness in some of the warriors. Their blood lust was up and they wanted to kill. If they stayed put any longer, Kruq'nov grew concern they might turn on each other. It was the curse of his own people; to fight amongst themselves when external enemies were abound. If not for aliens, the Kilrathi might already have wiped themselves out.

"Move forward!" Kruq'nov snarled at the warriors, a bare instant after the lord high officers snarled it at him.

The soldiers obeyed. Kilrathi may be natural-born fighters, but only the ruthless discipline of basic training drilled into them the ability to follow orders. Without it, they would be not an army, but millions of individual warriors, just waiting for Ape snipers to pick them off. Kruq'nov pointed at the two warriors closest to the inner door, ordering them on point. Neither protested. Despite the Kilrathi male's fiercely independent streak, no warrior would pass up the glory of first kill, even if they could be that kill.

Neither charged in like rookies. Instead, the slipped into the next chamber quietly, their eyes looking down the barrels of their own weapons. Two more followed after that. Kruq'nov did not like the silence his ears heard. Both pointed straight up and forward, straining to hear even a foot step. He heard none from his side; predators made no sounds while on the hunt. He called for the warriors under his immediate command to stay alert. It was not an order for veterans, who learned the hard way that Terrans are crafty animals, but more to remind the rookies of this fact. More than a few were already dead today because they forgot. Of course, in open combat, even battle-hardened veterans were just as dead.

The second chamber was far more spacious than the first, a true barrack. His entry was not the only one into this room, which could have easily held an octave of warriors, and likely twice as many Apes. It was also dark, not pitch dark, but not enough to cause his eyes to adjust— "Darken your visors!" he, as well as two other Second Claws roared. It was too late for some.

Kruq'nov tinted his helmet a fraction of a second before the sun went off in the room. Eights of flares brightened darkness to full day under a blue star, destroying night-vision in an instant. Warriors hissed in pain as the blue light pierced eyes evolved under a red sun. After the flares died down, smaller blasts of blue light raced forward, slamming into the forward most warriors. Half of them fell, their E-suits burned through by blue-hot plasma. Kruq'nov and the rest took whatever cover they could find. He overturned the nearest bunk, a tiny thing fit for still-growing cubs, and ducked behind it. It covered him barely, which was little comfort. A few direct hits by weapons' fire would turn it into scrap.

Kruq'nov took in the scene, spotting only a few Terran defenders. They must be a rear-guard, permitting their comrades to pull back to a more defensible position. He took another glance at the leader of the Apes. No, he was too small to be Mac Fear'son. That and his enemy was an NCO, same as himself. This Ape was a junior officer, by the markings on his uniform. Like his soldiers, the officer wore no better protection from the atmosphere slowly leaking in that a breather.

A second flare, almost as bright as the first barrage, took Kruq'nov's vision. He swore loudly, cursing the Apes and their mothers back eight generations. His curses were not the only ones to spring across the airwave. The Lord Officer above him demanded a status report, which Kruq'nov quickly gave him. He and his warriors were half-blinded, in a large room, with wily armed Apes bounding freely. Kruq'nov blinked, slowly bringing the room back into focus. It was still a swirl of colors, but he could spy motion. He trained his weapon on the motion, knowing the Apes were on the move.

When he heard action, it was not in front of him, but rather to his right. He snapped his gaze towards the sound of a howling Terran. With a hint of admiration, Kruq'nov noted the howl was one of rage and surprise, not pain. He could not tell what the Ape was saying in the barking language, but had no doubt his curses were every bit as vile as any Kilrathi's. As his vision cleared, he watched the Apes manage a fighting withdrawal, further into their labyrinth. A few fell under the guns of Kilrathi warriors, but most, including the wounded– officer?– managed to escape.

"Second Claw, do you still live?" came a familiar voice. It was Nrsah.

"I live," Kruq'nov said, his vision returning. He looked in surprise, genuine surprise not known in quite a while, at Nrsah's hand. It was covered in blood, his claws extending through the protective glove. Seals within the E-suit would protect the rest of him from the toxic air, though his hand must be in considerable pain.

Nrsah stood proud before his mentor. "That Ape, the one without the arches on his sleeves, he was leading a flanking maneuver towards you. He flanked right past one of the entrances to this cavern, which I and a few other warriors had forced our way through. I leapt upon him the moment I saw him–" Nrsah paused and looked down at his own hand. "Forgive my brashness, but I let my instincts get the better of me, slashing with claw instead of the razor edges of my rifle. I still nearly took his face off." Though the helmet, Kruq'nov could see Nrsah smiling a vicious, predatory smile.

Kruq'nov nodded in approval. "An excellent kill," he said, though he left off the part of how foolish it could be to attack an unknown Terran in hand-to-hand combat. He ran across a few on Repleetah armed with melee weapons of steel, diamond and the Gods only knew what else. Those weapons could severe limbs. He could not bring himself to scold the cub, who just saved his life, and likely the lives of half the blinded warriors in the hall.

"Yes, an excellent kill," he said, slapping Nrsah on the shoulder. The cub stood taller, if that were even possible for a Kilrathi standing upright. "Now go find a medic and get those claws cleaned and your suit repaired." Though damage to the suit was minimal, as was toxicity, neither would remain so. Without a curtain, the heavier byproducts of chemical warfare were already filling the room. Nrsah did not argue. He merely saluted and obeyed.

He turned back to the other warriors in the room, searching for officers. No, the Lord Officers have yet to come underground to dirty their claws. "Why are you standing around like livestock! You four, form a perimeter against that entry," he pointed across the room. "And you four, take that door!" Kruq'nov might not be the highest ranking Kilrathi in the Apes' trenches– he might not even be the most senior in the room– the other warriors obeyed without question. By the looks of the dead, he might be the only Second Claw left standing. The Apes were excellent at picking out Kilrathi rank markings, as he was with their own. Unlike Lord, oh so high and mighty, Officers, Kruq'nov had already proven himself in battle, earning the respect of his comrades. If he was to lead his own corner of the offensive to victory, he would need all the respect he could earn.

Two days into the offensive, Kruq'nov found himself and his squad already into the Apes' secondary trenches. The battle had gone smoothly. A little too smoothly. The younger warriors in his squadron could already taste victory. Kruq'nov knew better. He knew the Apes were up to something. Though the past days' fight had not been easy, it had progressed rapidly. He would have liked to see a victory, but if the old warrior was going to waste a wish upon anything, it would be getting off this forsaken rock.

Next to Kruq'nov in their precession down into the labyrinth of tunnels the Terran dug, marched Nrsah. He was once as raw and shiny as the other cubs in the squad. No more; he had seen enough days of fighting that Kruq'nov was able to make a soldier out of him. Furthermore, he had the Second Claw's back during the start of the push, nearly tearing the face off one Ape who planned to blast him.

The tunnels were dark, though by choice or by damage, Kruq'nov was not certain. He ordered his warriors to rely more upon infrared than light amplification. If the Terrans were pulling his tail about power outages, a sudden increase in luminosity would blind his warriors long enough for them all to be cut down in their tracks. He seen that sort of trick before. He had seen a lot of tricks before, and nothing the Apes did anymore was of great surprise.

He called a sudden stop to his squad's march. There was light up ahead. It was dim, and coming from a room. More to the point, it was fluctuating. It could have been an electrical problem, but his instincts disagreed. Somebody stepped in front of the doorway, momentarily blocking the light. He knew it. He called up a map on his E-suit helmet's face plate. Another passage branched off from the one they currently held, this branch before the door in question. It lead to another entry into the bunker.

"Shahresh!" Kruq'nov called for his squad's Third Claw. "Take three warriors down the side passage up there. Wait for me to get in place. We'll attack the occupants from both sides."

"As you command," Shahresh replied. Shahresh was rare among those of the rank of Third Claw; he respected his Second Claw more than he feared him. Kruq'nov's own experience at that rank was not the same. His Second Claw was an outright tyrant, cruel for the sake of cruelty. That was not the style of Kruq'nov; as long as those under him obeyed without question, he would not throw them around. Unless they did something foolish, and risked the lives of comrades. Then he would drag them over the coals.

Unlike the Apes, higher ranking enlisted warriors had to able to throw underlings around. If an underling grew too strong, he might just promote himself at his former commander's expense. Kruq'nov should know for that is how he earned his rank. That, and the fact the former Second Claw rushed a little too far ahead of his own men to meet the Terrans. The result was predictable; a sniper picked him off at an octomak. Sometimes even seasoned veterans lose their focus when the enemy presents them with a juicy target.

Kruq'nov swore he would never make such a mistake. Why present the Apes with an easy mark when there were so many other ways to die on this accursed planet, few of which are glorious. More than a few warriors died due to malfunctions of their E-suits. The air inside the Terrans' underground fortifications had yet to grow as toxic as the air above, but Kruq'nov was not about to take chances. His own filter still retained half of its operational life, as did the rest of his squad.

He threw up a hand to bring his half of the squad to a stop, just before the entry to the Terran bunker. Sometimes he envied the warriors in space, though they were hardly worthy of the name. At least they could see what the foe was doing. The only way Kruq'nov could imitated them beneath the surface of Repleetah II was to stick his head around the corner. An invitation to having it removed, if he never heard of one.

"Second Claw, we're in position," came the voice of Shahresh over his helmet's vox.

"Wait eight seconds until after I make my move," Kruq'nov told him. "That should draw enough of their attention to the front, while you leap upon them from their flank."

"It shall be done," his Third Claw replied.

It had better be done. Kruq'nov wondered how badly Shahresh wanted promotion. No better way than over the dead body of those above you. It was a little late in his life to worry about such things. Besides, if half the squad was cut down, how did the other half plan to escape this patrol?

Kruq'nov would just have to worry about that later. "Move!" he roared to the three warriors at his side.

As expected, Nrsah was the more cautious of the three. He bound over to the opposite side of the entry from Kruq'nov, and began firing blindly around the corner. Kruq'nov did the same. The other two warriors attempted to leap forward under the covering fire, their own rifles blasting away at all opposition. The Terrans within were well dug in, and not all were killed. Kruq'nov heard the unmistakable charging and barking of a chain gun, an instant before its rounds chewed apart the two warriors.

Kruq'nov cursed loudly at their death. Those were two warriors on the trail of becoming half-way decent soldiers. "Grenades!" he barked at Nrsah. Both he and his younger comrade pulled a charge off their E-suit's belt. Grenades were simple enough weapons; just remove the arming pin, push the priming button, and throw. All three motions took less than a second, as he and Nrsah tossed grenades blindly through the door simultaneously.

The resulting blasts sent serrated chunks of metal, primitive but quite lethal, through the room. One grenade packed enough force to kill or wound everyone in the room. Two would have omitted the wounding. The chain gun fell silent, bringing a calm in the middle of the storm. Nrsah began to fidget, but Kruq'nov told him to hold. It would be just like the Apes to be playing dead.

Instead of sticking his head through the door, as some cautious warriors might, Kruq'nov leaned his rifle around the corner. He jerked it back, nearly losing his hand, as the chain gun came back to life. _Sneaky Apes_, he thought with a toothy smirk upon his face. Whoever was leading them was good. The optics in his rifle displayed a brief layout of the room in his helmet's HUD. A table, a thick one at that, was on its side. Instead of having the chain gun stand over it, the table had a small hole punched through it, wide enough for the barrel. Not only that, but the barricade was built so the blast of any unaimed grenade would be deflected outwards. That would explain why the concussion had not knocked anyone cold.

The other entry was covered by a similar barricade, meaning Shahresh was walking into certain death. Sure enough, as the eighth second ticked away, four more Kilrathi charged the room. A second gun rattled away. Kruq'nov did not know how many were defending the room. Certainly not more than squad. Terran squads were bigger, usually with eight-and-two warriors. A chain gun requires three, so that could leave four more with rifles.

Since the guns did not fall immediately silent, Shahresh must have met with limited success. Kruq'nov risked another peak around the corner. This time, the chain gun did not try to severe his limbs. Instead, he saw a couple of Ape heads and weapons aimed toward the other door. Must be a reduced squad. He decided to make the best use of this distraction while it lasted. He pulled a second grenade off his belt, and tossed this one in a high arc. It cleared the barricade and went off with a loud whoomph.

This time, the guns went silent for real. He gestured to Nrsah to rush, and both barreled into the room, leaping over the barricade. The jump was tight, as Terran rooms were not designed for the bulk of a Kilrathi's body. He speared the first Ape he saw, writhing on the floor with a bloody wreckage where his arm once rested, with the blades of his rifle. Nrsah was quick to dispatch two other Apes. A fourth one stood before the two, a blade in each hand. They were not the small utility knives Apes often used. In fact, they were not even knives. They were those axes so favored. Toma'hawk they were called.

The warrior, a Second Claw by the marking of stripes upon his own E-suit's sleeve, charged forward and slashed at Kruq'nov's faceplate. He deftly dodged the blow. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Nrsah take aim at the Terran. "No! This one is mine." Nrsah relaxed, but did not lower his weapon. Good. Kruq'nov knew that should he fall, the younger warrior would avenge his death. Knowing he would be avenged gave Kruq'nov great relief. Not even his own blood-kin would bother with such an honor.

The Terran warrior dodged Kruq'nov's own attacks. He was instantly recognized as a veteran, an Ape who seen more than his fair share of fighting. Just like Mac'Fearson. Perhaps it was even his own foe. He was about as tall as him. For Kilrathi, height was similar enough to not be very useful in distinguishing individuals. With Apes; their height had a degree of variety that made it useful. Of course, plenty of Apes were that tall, but only the best could still be standing after a grenade landed in his midst.

Kruq'nov continued to thrust with his bladed rifle. He could have gunned down the enemy easily enough, but after waiting so long he planned to savor this victory. He aimed to end the battle, once the Ape was backed into a corner. Instead of dying, the Ape hurled one of the axes straight at Kruq'nov. He felt the impact as it buried itself into the chest of his E-suit. The impact sent Kruq'nov back a step. It took but a second to regain his balance, but that was all the Ape needed. He leapt forward, his axe aimed for Kruq'nov's faceplate.

The look of furious glee upon the Ape quickly turned to furious surprise, as Kruq'nov brought his rifle up with enough force to punch through the Ape's E-suit as if it were nothing but fatigues. So much force, that he lifted his foe off the ground, and flung him over his shoulder. He slammed into the ground. Kruq'nov knew little of the Apes' languages, but could tell the Ape was cursing him with his dying breath. He used some of the same words that a certain's officer's Green Bird was taught to say to taunt captured Apes.

"He died bravely," Nrsah said with some admiration. Though his own stint on Repleetah was nearly one Kahrik, he still sounded surprised.

"He was good," Kruq'nov said with respect. "I happen to be better." Kruq'nov reached down and grabbed hold of a tag dangling from the dead warrior's neck. He yanked free the identification tag and dropped it into one of his E-suit's pouches. He would use a translator later to learn the name of his foe. A foe like this was worthy of having his name recorded. Had the Terran been large enough to match him in strength, Kruq'nov was uncertain as to who would walk away from that fight.

Kruq'nov glanced over at Shahresh, pleased to see him still alive. Along with himself, two of the other warriors from that half of the squad survived. The fourth lay face down in the room, the back of his E-suit blown out. The dead were lucky, for they died brave and were now in the hands of the Gods. Kruq'nov was not so lucky, for now he had to request three more replacements. Veterans, even those with as little experience as those freshly killed, were worth a whole squad of cubs on this planet.

There was little Kruq'nov could do about that. Repleetah took in warriors and spat out grounded flesh. He glanced from the dead back to the living. "Move out. Many more opportunities for death in battle await us."


	3. Chapter 3

**Warriors' Pride**

**Chapter 3**

**Terran Trenches**

**Chandler Front**

**Repleetah II**

Night fell over the front, casting a cloak of darkness upon the trenches and tunnels that so many warriors on both side have called home for too long. Being of a species that evolved on a tidally-locked world, Kruq'nov's night vision was nowhere near as great as the Terran cats he and his kind are often called. That sort of night-vision would have given the Kilrathi a great advantage. Of course, the Apes would just shoot off a bunch of flares in their faces and blind them. Many fires rages in the occupied lines. They were not so much for light as they were for food. Rats were just at home on this side of no-man's land as they were on the other. A number of fat rats, some the size of his head, were already spitted and roasting over the fire.

The trenches and tunnels were sealed enough that the air was no longer lethal. Most warriors have discarded their E-suits for a bit of rest and fresh air, so to speak. In his bare hand rested the tag lifted from a dead Terran, and positively identified as Mac'Fearson. Or at least a Mac'Fearson. The Apes tended to identify themselves by their Prides and not their own namesakes. No other Ape with that name has passed through Kilrathi control lately, dead or alive. Come to think of it, only a few Apes passed through the lines alive.

He shuddered at the thought of prisoners. To die fighting or even to retreat were acceptable, and being taken by the enemy while incapacitated was one thing, but to voluntarily give up the fight. What shame these warriors– no, they did not deserve that title. These Apes bring great dishonor upon their Prides. Few Kilrathi warriors ever suffered this fate. Plenty have defected, but few surrendered. It would not be his fate. For the moment, he knew not what it would be. More than likely, death in battle, like so many before him.

With time of rest before him, Kruq'nov shared his fire with Nrsah, the warrior who he trusted more than any other. This was saying very little, since Kruq'nov was not one to trust another Kilrathi male so easily. He knew that any warrior in his ranks would chose himself as the one who should live, and sacrifice the others to make it so. Kruq'nov would sacrifice quite a few of them in return for his own survival, but not Nrsah. The young warrior reminded him of himself at that age– Kruq'nov shook his head in disbelief. Was he ever so young? Yes, but that was a lifetime ago.

Like Kruq'nov, Nrsah had no brother of birth to watch his back through the deadly game of life. Many warriors had stood in such a situation before them. Kruq'nov was already more than halfway through his life, while Nrsah still had much to learn. Though not brothers by birth, they were brothers by battle.

Kruq'nov stood ready. "I, Kruq'nov, hear by swear upon my honor my undying loyalty to Nrsah." Kruq'nov extended his bare arm, and slashed open a few of the surface veins with his claws. This was an oath of blood, and one not taken lightly.

Nrsah stood proudly. Like many warriors before him, he had been taken under the wing of a veteran, a warrior from whose wisdom and experience he could learn much. Such brotherhoods nearly always involved an elder and a younger. "I, Nrsah, hereby swear upon my honor my undying loyalty to Kruq'nov." He extended his own arm and slashed it open.

Each one grasped the other's arm at the elbow, bringing the wounds together. Oaths spoken and blood mixed, the two were now Sworn Brothers. The Kilrathi had many ceremonies in their lives, but the more important ones tend to be the ones without pomp. Instead of celebration, Kruq'nov merely slapped Nrsah upon the shoulder. "Come, brother, let us eat."

Kruq'nov found himself abruptly awoken one morning by the sound of a thousand freight haulers roaring overhead. In the shelter that housed his squad and another, he grinned at the sight of several young warriors diving for cover. He watched them with some amusement out of one open eye. Such optimism by the youth; they still think they will be leaving this planet alive. Like all warriors this close to the Apes, he slept in his E-suit. When the first of the shells began to explode above them, he calmly reached over for his helmet and placed it upon his head.

Next to him, Nrsah sat with his back against the wall, still asleep. Kruq'nov reached over and smacked him upside the head. "Wake up, brother, the Apes are pitching another fit."

Nrsah stirred and his eyes flew open at the sounds of explosions. "Artillery?" He only yawned in indifference. He then noticed the rookies taking whatever shelter they could find. "Do they not know that if a shell were to land on top of us, we'd be quite dead?"

Kruq'nov recalled when Nrsah witness his first barrage, and how he did the same thing. "True enough, but it would do you no good to sleep through it. It would be a shame if you died without staring Death in the eyes. Grab your gear and get ready to go outside."

As Nrsah secured his helmet, Kruq'nov gave his plasma rifle a quick once-over. Far more warriors have died from not being cautious as opposed of being too cautious. Only a fool would jump into battle without knowing his weapon would work. The rifle had a full charge in it, and sparkled as brightly as any piece of equipment could in such a dank and filthy pit. The only comfort he ever took in the filth was that Terrans liked the dirt even less; hardly surprising, considering their ancestors fell out of the trees.

Over the roar of shells came one far louder. It sounded as if a freight train were burrowing down upon Kruq'nov. Rookies hissed in dismay at the strange sound. They had no idea what it could be. It did not explode, though the newcomers to Repleetah never considered that a bad thing. Kruq'nov heard the roar land with a loud thud that reverberated through his very soul. He knew that sound, a horrible sound he would have died happily never hearing it again.

As soon as it hit, the Apes let up their more explosive barrage. Kruq'nov looked over at his brother and jerked his thumb towards the door. Nrsah did not know the sound, not the way Kruq'nov knew. He did remember the stories his elder brother told him about the fighting before his arrival. Kruq'nov was first out of the bunker. It could be a ploy to draw as many warriors out before firing more shells, but he doubted it. If they Apes fired one of their combat drones over here, they would not risk damaging it. At least not until the machine inflicted the maximum amount of carnage possible.

Kruq'nov slowly stuck his head above the trench. The drone did not fall between them and the Apes. Instead, it fell behind the occupied trenches, trapping the Kilrathi against enemy lines. He did not like looking backwards. To be shot in the back of the head by a sniper was not a glorious death, though far from the least dignified this planet offered. He did not even relax when it was evident no sniper had a bead on him.

What he saw in the churned up and charred landscape that may have once been a prairie or a forest– over two shrik of fighting erased any former glory of this once marginal planet– came as close as anything could to strike fear into him. A long cone, looking much like a missiles, lay in a crater. That alone was not cause for alarm. Instead, the first of three legs emerging from the cone is what set that off.

"We have a drone!" Kruq'nov roared over his vox. That set every veteran in range into a frenzy of preparation.

Above the trenches, the drone had already righted itself. Once it stood on all threes, it towered over all Kilrathi warriors by a factor of four. The machine was too huge to have been fired from a regular gun. A launcher must be near, and perhaps a stockpile of drones. It was not the first time the Apes launched. He knew it could be worse; his first encounter with combat drones involved three of them.

An assortment of hatches on the polished durasteel surface of the drone slid open. Within the blink of an eye, deadly implements of war protruded from each opening. From what Army Intel managed to learn from destroyed drones was minimal. All they knew for certain was the drones were programmed to kill all Kilrathi, and were exceedingly proficient at the task. Kruq'nov dropped back into the trench the moment he saw the weapons. A few others were not so quick. The moment the drone went into its frenzy, a few others were a little more than dead.

Explosive rounds, plasma shots, and graser beams shot out in all direction as the drone lumbered forward. Any warrior who stood in its path did not stand for long. The quick and the smart took cover behind ruins and in shell craters, and fired blindly at the machine. Kruq'nov did likewise. Only the muzzle of his plasma rifle stood in view of the machine. Drones were not smart; if the weapon did not have a Kilrathi in sight of it, they tended to ignore it. Which was just as good; Kruq'nov has the same chance of downing this thing with a rifle as he did with a Terran armored vehicle.

Octaves of warriors began to pour fire down on the drone, and eighties more were killed where they fought. The drone had yet to come across the trenches, and Kruq'nov had no intention of being there when it did. The line dug deep into the ground– deep enough for the Apes at any rate– offered kill-fire zone no machine or warrior could resist. The trenches were not straight lines, but rather jagged, to minimize the damage caused should a shell land within it.

Explosions began to mix with the fire coming off the drone. The Kilrathi's own guided artillery fell down upon the drone, chewing away at its armor and damaging its weaker weapons. Kruq'nov need not stick his head up to know what would happen. As sure as the sun rose every morning upon this planet, the drone turned its beam weapons upon the shells, detonating incoming fire. He watched on warrior with a shoulder-launched missile try to take aim at the drone, only to have the upper half of his body ripped to pieces by flechette rounds.

If the missile launcher was not melted into slag, he might have scooped it up and tried to launch it blindly. He mind was so focused on killing the drone, that he nearly missed the first of the Apes who dropped down into trench. His mind might have missed, but his rifle did not. A bolt of plasma slammed into the Ape's E-suit, sending him flying back. For good measure, he rammed the bladed barrel into the warrior's damaged chest.

A second Terran dropped in behind him and Nrsah, only to be cut down by the younger warrior's lightning reflexes. A third and four Ape followed. It did not take the tactical genius of a Lord General to determine what was happening. The cursed Apes were using the drone as cover for a counter-attack. Kruq'nov swore loudly and venomously. Their attack would probably work too, and just how far back would the Kilrathi be pushed this time. Orders flowed across his vox, sounding a retreat.

"We better fall back to a more secure position," Kruq'nov suggested, just ahead of the wave of Terran warriors. Both he and Nrsah fought a firing retreat, making their way through the maze of tunnels covered by their own plasma. Several other warriors linked up with them in the tunnels.

One of the warriors looked at Kruq'nov with a savage smile. "The drone is down." The Second Claw noted he said down and not dead.

"How many warriors has it killed since it lost a leg?" Kruq'nov asked.

The other warrior growled. "Too many." Unlike Apes, or even Kilrathi, combat drones were still deadly even after losing a leg. Or three for that matter. As long as its targeting system functioned, it would continue to fire upon all Kilrathi. They would have made a respectable foe, had they not been constructed to shield their creators from fire. Even as the Apes swarm over open ground and back into their lost trenches, the damaged drone drew a bulk of the withdrawing Kilrathi's fire.

Kruq'nov was never one to be among the majority. He made his shots count. Even as he, Nrsah and the other warriors in his presence were forced back into the previous no-man's land, he took aim at every Ape in sight. More than a few were cut down. He did not enjoy these kills from afar, never knowing the true face of his enemies. There was no glory here, not like when killing a seasoned and admired enemy. Of course, Kruq'nov enjoyed dying even less than sniping.

As Kilrathi fired up heavy weapons that remained in their previous positions, the Terran tide began to ebb. Few Apes were willing to cross an open, cratered field in the face of automatic weapon fire. Kruq'nov was one of the last Kilrathi to make it back to his former lines. He leapt back down into the trench, a trench of proper depth, while firing blindly at any pursuers.

Terrans continued their attack until night fall, when their numbers were sufficiently drained to prevent any breakthrough. Or rather when the Ape generals realized a breakthrough was no longer possible. If not for the clear and obvious fact that Kilrathi lines were in chaos, some great Lord General would probably order octaves of warriors to storm back across the dead zone. Kruq'nov had no great desire to die in a vainglorious attack.

As soon as the fighting died down, he stormed through one of the functioning atmospheric curtains and into a bunker. It was not the same bunker that was his home for the better part of two kahrik, but it did not look a whole lot different. He marched over to the nearest refrigeration unit and pulled the door open. As he suspected, no rations, but a couple of plasma rifles. Seems he was not the only veteran to survive today's mayhem. He stood his rifle in the refrigerator, to allow it to cool. Had he been forced to fire it much longer, certain parts would likely have melted.

Nrsah joined him. "A good idea," he said, imitating his elder brother's example.

Kruq'nov let out a low growl, low enough so other warriors in the bunker could not hear. "I grow sick of this planet, and its endless battle. War is much more fun when you are winning."

He did not fear death, not by a long shot. He would have lain down his life if it would lead the Kilrathi to victory. However, he refused to die in vain, like so many warriors did today. So many days of advance, wiped clean of the slate by one drone. That lone machine opened a breach in Kilrathi lines, allowing a wave of Terrans to sweep over recently conquered positions.

After depositing his weapon for cooling, he found himself a comfortable spot against the wall and slumped down in exhaustion. So much of his life wasted on this dying world, and for what? So he could have the privilege of waking up with fleas, eating rats, and being killed in glorious combat. He laughed at the thought. If cubs knew a half about what war with the Apes was like, they would never enlist in the army. The navy perhaps; in space, victory was at least possible.

No longer did he see any sort of victory as certain. When he tried to see into his future, he could only see the emptiness of the void. When he tried to imagine the future of the Empire, he could only see endless warfare, where the victor is the one who runs out of warriors last. When the last soldier to die is the winner, it is no victory.

What burned him the most was thinking what it was all worth. Nothing. He would gain nothing from victory or defeat, or dying for that matter. The preening, inbreed lords of the Eight and the Imperial Pride would gain all the booty of conquest. How many have they sent to their deaths, and how many of their scions have they sheltered, allowing them to take Prides of their own, and spreading their infected genes. How many of them have seen the true face of war. Kruq'nov own face was decorated by scars, one nasty one from a Terran melee weapon.

No more! Kruq'nov swore to himself that he and his brother would not shed another drop of blood for the nobles and their pointless war.

**Forward Landing Area**

"Come my brother, we're leaving," Kruq'nov said as he watched a great number of Kilrathi amble towards the cargo ships sitting outside of Terran artillery range. When word of a great many ships arrived reached him, he took Nrsah to investigate. He gave the excuse to the lord officer above him of gathering replacements. The officer told him he was wasting his time, but Kruq'nov insisted. He did a superb job of cleaning the blood of the blades of his rifle. Walking this far behind the lines with blood on one's weapon would lead to too many questions.

Nrsah, naturally, knew nothing of the slaying. The officer had not seen much combat, being a replacement of his own. Had he not been a scion of one of the Eight, Kruq'nov disremembered which Pride, he might have merely incapacitated the officer. Or he might not have. No telling how long these ships would be on the ground, and he wanted no warning of his escape. Death in Thrakrik was one thing, killing without challenge what quite another. No matter what happens, he could not go back. That would be certain death.

Upon observing the columns of Kilrathi marching towards the ships, he determined there were two type. One were the wounded. That alone was unusual. Wounded in the Army survived depending upon their own strength. Males who were not strong, died. Who would help a strange male, even if he was a fellow warrior? After all, when healed, he could become potential competition for taking a Pride. As the wise Emperor said, before the nobility was closed to non-nobles, 'no good deed shall go unpunished'.

Not only was it unusual, for plenty of future warriors were still growing to maturity back on civilized worlds, but it was deceitful. The majority of warrior– no, of males. They did not deserve the title of warrior. The majority were unwounded, and some looked as if they saw little battle. Nobles, lord officers, scions, and other Kilrathi that the Empire considered too important to die. They were leaving the planet in great numbers. Kruq'nov bared his teeth, ready to tear into any of their throats.

"Leaving?" Nrsah asked, puzzled. "We just arrived."

Kruq'nov's snarl turned to a smile. "You misunderstand, brother. We are not leaving the landing area. We're leaving the planet."

Nrsah started at the words. He whirled on Kruq'nov. "But, brother, the battle is not over." Nrsah would not flee the battle. What warrior would. He pointed this out, in an attempt to correct Kruq'nov errant way.

Kruq'nov's smile burst into a laugh. He swung his arm outward, gesturing to the lines of retreating Kilrathi. "They would. They are! If so many of these 'important people' are being evacuated, what does that mean?" When Nrsah did not answer, he continued. "It means they are abandoning the campaign here, and are abandoning us."

Nrsah tried to digest his words. "If that is the case, then surely we shall all leave soon."

"In a matter of speaking, the abandoned will be leaving. They will be leaving their mortal coils. The Emperor, in his wisdom," Kruq'nov put a great deal of scorn into the word. "Decided he could not give up a planet battled for, for over two shrik. His pride will not let him admit this planet was never worth having. To evacuated all of us, he would look weak to his enemies among the Eight. So, to save face, he throws the rest of us into the fire." Kruq'nov would not be surprised if no ships returned to this planet. Few brought supplies from off-world anymore. The fact that so many ships were here, and presumably all over the world, should be setting off alarm. Not to mention bringing down Ape attacks. Perhaps the Terrans were evacuating as well.

Of course, the more optimistic warriors might think of this as reinforcement and not desertion. Nrsah had hoped for reinforcements, to finally break the Apes on this planet. But as his brother said, Repleetah II was no longer worth having, if it ever truly was. Many warriors will spill the last of their blood, and for what? Even if they did overrun the Apes, the planet was nobody would care.

"Tell me, brother," Kruq'nov asked. "Do you wish to die for those who care not at all for you?" Nrsah replied in the negative. "Nor do I. In fact, I'd like to see a world once more, where I did not have to wear this infernal breather, or a combat E-suit, in order to go outside. I would like to breath fresh air once again, feel the soil between my toes, and prey between my claws." He looked down at his hand in sorrow. "Can't even extend my claws in combat, not without risking contamination by some chemical weapon or other."

Nrsah knew about that. He forgot himself before when he slashed the fact of that Ape officer. The air was only mildly toxic at the time, and the pain was low enough that it did not stop him from fighting. His fingertips were scared, and would be for the rest of his life. It was only a little damage, and caused discomfort occasionally when he unsheathed his claws. That would probably remain with him until he died as well.

"I do not like the idea of abandoning our post," Nrsah admitted. Even after his time on Repleetah, his sense of duty had not corroded. He was still a male, and one that wished to live long enough to take a Pride of his own. "But I like the idea of dying for those who would leave loyal soldiers to perish, while they fled, even less. You are my brother now, and I shall follow where you leave."

With that settled, he lead Nrsah down towards the line of Kilrathi preparing to leave the planet. He did not enter the lines of 'important' Kilrathi, but the wounded. They were cover for these cowards' retreat, and would not likely be checked as careful as those who are intended to leave. He did not know where the wounded would be dumped in the end, and did not care, as long as it was not back here. No, they would be saved, healed, and sent back into combat. Kruq'nov had no intention to wear this uniform after he removed it for the final time.

The wounded boarded the ships, not into the passenger compartment, but the cargo holds. Marching up the ramp, he could see the holds have been converted for medical purpose. Those evacuating obviously planned to see their cover healed. He wondered how these lucky warriors were chosen. Probably just happened to be the ones wounded during the last Terran push. He saw plenty of burn wounds, where plasma bolts pierced E-suit and charred flesh.

One warrior, laying on a medical cot, had the left half of his face burned. Would they replace the damaged eye? Like all males born during the Ape War, he heard how the Emperor was wounded while battling the Varni. He lost an eye and arm in the war, and both were replaced. From what he heard of the glorious tales of battle in space, one his sons was killed early in the war. Another– he was executed after losing the _Sivar_. The rest of his sons– those lecherous fiends have left the Imperial Pride to take over other Prides in the name of Kilrah.

Kruq'nov growled at the thought of those unworthy males fathering so many offspring. How many skipped the war entirely? Too many. He imagined few of them ever smelled the scent of burned flesh and decay that choked the cargo hold turned medical bay. The stench of death was one of the things Kruq'nov would most certainly not miss. Nor would he miss having the reapers of the Gods pursue him during every waking moment.

The healthy warriors picked their way through the crowded bay, steeping around, and occasionally over, the wounded. Kruq'nov found an open spot against the bulkhead. The reddish-bronze metal looked as if never to have seen the ravages of war. Plenty of cargo, but never a shot fired in anger. He slumped down against the wall, leaning his rifle against his shoulder. He was far from free of Repleetah, and planned to be ready should any warrior try to remove him from the ship.

While sitting, he noticed a few warriors were not so badly wounded. The lord officers must have taken anybody with a wound, to make it appear as if so many ships were truly taking so many warriors off for healing. The doctors ignored them, focusing instead on those whose lives were still in peril. To be truthful, they were not real doctors, but medics. Doctoring was a role fit for females. Of course, war was only fit for males, and some males were forced to patch up the wounded long enough for them to be delivered to proper doctors. The Apes did not divide their labor as such– which went a long ways to explaining why their casualty rates among wounded was not so abysmally high.

Not another warrior in the cargo hold gave Kruq'nov a second glance. After all, if he were not authorized to be here, he would not. That showed just how little the true passengers of this ship cared. As long as their own worthless hides were saved, then they were content to extend their good graces to those who covered them. As long as they did not open the cargo hold to space, Kruq'nov might just live to see another planet. One thing was clear; if this were the evacuation he believed it to be, then not another warrior would ever leave this planet alive.


	4. Chapter 4

**Warriors' Pride**

**Chapter 4**

**Nr'rek Preserve**

**Ghorah Khar**

Kruq'nov moved forwards on all fours, keeping his body close to the ground. Slinking through the tall grasses under a warm sun without the aid of an E-suit was a nice change . It took longer than he expected to grow use to the open air once again. Even the feel of loose dirt between his fingers and toes came as a shock. At the moment, his extended claws dug deep into the soil of Ghorah Khar. Sometimes he wondered if even five jumps was far enough from Repleetah.

Ahead of him, he could spot his target moving warily through the grass. Like most things he killed over the past Shrik, it was smaller than he. It also knew Kruq'nov was near. Or rather, knew it was being stalked. As he drew closer, he could only hope his brother was in place. The point in an ambush was not to be seen. Thus, both Kruq'nov and Nrsah took cover in grasses not that different of a shade as their fur. Native grasses were quite annoying, especially to Kruq'nov. His mane kept getting thistle seeds stuck in it.

Once his target was in clear sight, Kruq'nov laid down in wait. The target, though cautious, made his task much easier. Instead of charging, the Second Claw would wait for the target to approach him. This was far from the first time in his life that his target would march right at him. It was small, but well armed. It could spear him just as easily as he could sink his teeth into its throat– which was precisely what Kruq'nov planned.

Rustling in the brush behind the target spoked it. It soon determined whatever it was hearing was behind instead of ahead. Instead of turning to face Nrsah, who was stalking behind, the target bolted forward, directly at Kruq'nov. The veteran waited until the target was almost on top of him before moving. Kruq'nov leapt from the long grass, claws and teeth bared. The target, noticing him a second too late, honked in surprise. Kruq'nov's mass was enough to knock the beast off its feet. While dodging the sharp antlers atop its head, Kruq'nov bit down into the beast's throat. He did not tear it out, but the force of his jaws crushed the breathing passage.

The antelope, a brown and tan animal native to Ghorah Khar, thrashed for less than a minute, before falling still. Without oxygen, the antelope simply lapsed out of consciousness. Kruq'nov yanked the long hunting knife from his belt and slit the beast's throat. Unlike a Kilrathi's claws, which tear and shred, the knife was designed to slice. Not just throats, but bellies as well. Which was precisely what he did to the freshly dead antelope.

Nrsah walked upright towards Kruq'nov, a grin on his face. "An excellent hunt, brother. We shall eat fine for eight more days." An antelope of this size back during the ancient day of Kilrah would feed a Pride for a day– or its equivalent. Being tidally locked, the homeworld did not have a day as so many others. Instead, the Kilrathi clock was based on Kilrathi sleep cycles, which was not the most effective means of time keeping.

The two former soldiers had spent the better part of the last kahrik living easily on Ghorah Khar. The ships scattered in several directions after jumping to the Imperial HQ in the Enigma Sector. The ship the brothers were upon jumped back and forth, until reaching Ghorah Khar. The wounded were removed from the ship and healthy volunteers took their place. Kruq'nov had no idea what happened to those wounded, nor overly cared. A few died in route. As for the rest– Kruq'nov could only shrug. The Emperor and the Eight rang whatever service they could out of the bodies, and simply dumped them on a colonial world.

Ghorah Khar was a new colony, perhaps three shrik old. The population of the entire planet was the same as the total of two or three metropolises on Kilrah. Prides were not large yet. The two largest still remained under an octave in number. Sooner or later, those two Prides would have to battle for the position of planetary Pride, but that did not concern him.

During their time upon Ghorah Khar, he and Nrsah spent much of their time outdoors, in the fresh air, usually hunting. After so long in the trenches, eating rations, Kruq'nov decided it best to stay in the open skies, dining on fresh kills. Of course, the meat would be preserved better in a refrigerator back at their quarters than it would just lying under the sun. Ghorah Khar was far wetter than the arid world of his species's origin, where meat would dry quickly.

After gutting the antelope, Kruq'nov stood upright and tall, and threw the carcass over his shoulder. As a veteran, he would have appreciated some recognition from the nature preserve's staff. Alas, no, he and Nrsah still were required to pay for a hunting permit. He understood that without such measures, the Kilrathi would wipe out many species on this planet in a hurry, but that did not mean he liked buying tags. Instead of hunting, most of the colonists rely upon herds of domesticated beasts. Butchers never died poor.

And the butchers in M'krah have earned a great deal of coin from Kruq'nov. He could butcher his own kill as well as any other Kilrathi, it was a natural skill after all. He was not so good about skinning the animal. Hides brought in some income, as did antlers and other inedible parts. Every coin helped, and with his pay account being in his name, it was outside his reach. If a warrior who was suppose to be on Repleetah used his account on Ghorah Khar, that might raise a few questions.

Nrsah walked along side Kruq'nov as they left the kill site. "A great hunt indeed," he repeated his earlier declaration, while ripping a chunk of flesh from the liver in his hand.

Kruq'nov eyed the liver. It was a tasteful chunk of antelope flesh, best served raw. He took the liver during the previous hunt, as Nrsah did the one before that. Taking turns at the choicest bits of flesh struck him as a better idea than fighting Nrsah every time. If it were any other of his species, then perhaps, but not with Nrsah. The young Kilrathi did more for Kruq'nov than any of his blood kin ever had. Not that he had much; he did not even have a sister in his brood. Kruq'nov was rare among Kilrathi. He was born in a litter of one.

"Next time, brother, perhaps I shall take the liver while you throw yourself in front of charging fur and antler." Being of a litter of one, Kruq'nov was necessarily a better hunter than Nrsah, who was born with a sister. Any Kilrathi alone in the world who could not fend for himself, did not live long enough to worry about it.

:And perhaps I should land the killing blow," Nrsah retorted. "And perhaps this time, I shall not miss."

Kruq'nov laughed. Nrsah's last attempt at a hunt ended with an antelope with claw marks gouged into its side. Brutal damage, and painful, but non-lethal. The antelope lived to see another day. Kruq'nov did not grow angry at the failure, for more hunts ended in failure than did in a kill. That is, when the hunter uses only the weapons nature provided. "Perhaps. Perhaps you should use a plasma rifle too."

Nrsah disagreed with a hiss. "Only an Ape would hunt with a rifle."

Kruq'nov had no answer to that. He agreed; no self-respecting Kilrathi would ever hunt with weapons. Kill perhaps, but that was different. Animals raised for the purpose of slaughter could never be proper game, and did not count in the eyes of most. Hunting one of those would be about as sporting as bayoneting a wounded Ape in a hospital bed.

After an hour walking along the game trail, the two passed one of the wardens. Kruq'nov nodded a greeting to the warden. She was a fine enough looking female, and from what he learned, she was part of the Nr'rek Pride, who runs and lives upon, the game reserve of the same name. It might not be so bad to take over that Pride, if for no other reason than to hunt whenever he felt like. Most males preferred to fight than to hunt, but Kruq'nov was one male who had a lifetime's worth of fighting.

Her robes marked her as both a member of the Nr'rek Pride, as well as a game warden. Kilrathi clothing were more utilitarian than most species. Unlike the rest, the Kilrathi wore them almost exclusively in public as a means of identification of Pride and rank in society. Kruq'nov and Nrsah wore their own clothing as well, though theirs' were half-robes, covering the lower portions of their bodies. After so long wearing Army uniforms and environmental-suits, even a full robe made Kruq'nov feel naked.

She was also a young female, drawing considerably more attention from Nrsah."A fine specimen," he noted. "What sort of Kings does the Nr'rek Pride have?"

Kruq'nov snorted indifferently. "None that could stand against us." He glanced over and saw the eagerness of youth upon Nrsah's face. "Patience, my brother. Ghorah Khar is a new world, and a male should not leap at the first Pride that comes along." Kruq'nov would rather take control of a strong Pride, than a small one. He decided days ago that such an action could wait. For the moment, he was quite content to hunt and enjoy an atmosphere that would not poison him.

**M'krah**

**Ghorah Khar**

The streets of M'krah were crowded with traffic, both foot and wheeled. The city was large, and only a couple eighths of a day's walk from the nearest game reserve. A typical Kilrathi city, a build up settlement surrounded by pastures and wilderness. Kruq'nov never seen a Terran city before, but veterans of other campaigns on Repleetah spoke of Terran cities that sprawl endlessly. Since Apes ate seeds and roots, and since crops took up less space than herds of livestock, they did not need as much room to survive. Still, the mental picture of a sprawling gray mass upon a globe disgusted him.

A few Kilrathi eyed him as he and Nrsah walked along the sidewalk. Or where they eying the bag upon his shoulder. The butcher's shop managed a good job at stripping the carcass of useless parts. Along with meat, he had a few coins in a pouch upon his belt. He was far from rich, but had sufficient funds for rent, and maybe a few drinks at the local saloon. More than a few Kilrathi in front of them parted way for the veterans.

Perhaps, the Kilrathi were looking at him and Nrsah instead. Both were underdressed by the standards of civilized society. More than few males eyed them with suspicion and loathing. To them, he was a threat, potential competition. Kruq'nov ignored them. They were no threat to him or Nrsah. Either one of the brothers could take them all in combat. Females also eyed the veterans, which was a more welcome feeling to Kruq'nov. His face and chest sported scars, souvenirs of Repleetah, proving him a strong, tough male. He tended to draw more attention than his brother, whose scars were fewer and less obvious. Fingertips did not display as well as faces.

Along with Kilrathi, a number of slaves trudged about. Most of these were Terrans. The first Terran slave he saw dismayed him greatly. He came to this planet to get away from the Apes, not to share the street with him. These slaves, they did not stand proud and defiant as the Apes he was familiar with. Not only that, most were female. Even in loose fitting robes, robes that told whose property they were, he could tell most had enlarged breasts, though half as many as a Kilrathi female. He seldom came across the gender in the trenches, but those in space fought as fiercely as any human male.

They gave the veterans a wide berth. Most Kilrathi on the street ignored them, but not Kruq'nov. So long battling a sneaky enemy, he always eyed the Terrans as they walked past. No telling when one might draw a pulse pistol and open up upon him. In a sense, it saddened him to see Apes in chains. They were a proud and resilient people, deserving a better fate than life in bondage. Of course, if these slave were freed, they would probably turn on their former owners with whatever weapon they could get their hands upon.

A couple of slaves were covered in feathers. They were taller and leaner than the Apes, and had strong beaks instead of a proper face. They appeared far more alien than any Terran. At first seeing one, he wondered if they were a new species of herd animals, ones dressed in robes for humor. He asked the butcher about them, only to have her laugh in his face. They were Firekkans. A batch of eighty arrived in the slave markets a Kahrik before Kruq'nov arrived. He heard of the creatures, but never seen one in the flesh.

"Feathers," Nrsah hissed in disgust to Kruq'nov. "How much trouble would it be to skin one of those?"

"Too much," Kruq'nov agreed. The Apes kept birds as livestock, and had far more experience plucking feathers. Since birds never evolved on Kilrah, the Kilrathi never developed a taste for hunting and skinning them. They would, given no other prey was available, but birds were not a chosen prey. He had eaten some bird, captured from an Ape kitchen in the trenches, and was not impressed. The meat was too dry, requiring sauces and gravies to flavor it.

Slaves aside, Kruq'nov found it refreshing to walk in such a built up area without worry that the next instant may bring a torrent of shells down upon them. The same refreshment he extended towards seeing intact buildings. The buildings of M'krah were made of local stones, Kruq'nov could not tell one from another. Maybe a geologist could, but that was not in his interest. Like all Kilrathi buildings, they were constructed at odd angles, with jagged edges and sharp corners protruding from them. Even the doorways were asymmetrical, having five, six and sometimes seven angles in them. . Streets and plots were more orderly than the buildings upon them. Houses and shops were evenly spaced, set upon lots of barren rock and sand. A few homes had herb gardens in their lots, a little something to spice up meals. He could easily spot the homes of slave owners. Not only were they larger, as one must be wealthy to own a slave, but also had Terran-style farms in the lots. It would do no good to allow slaves to starve. Kruq'nov wondered how well the Apes who farmed were supervised. Even with only farming tools, he would not turn his back on an Ape. Even unarmed, only a fool would turn his back on one. Their small size, and lack of claws forced the Apes, long ago, to develop the art of killing with bear hands.

Kruq'nov wanted to forget he ever saw the Ape, and he knew just the place that could happen. "What say you, brother, after we stock our refrigerator that we stock ourselves with some fine drink?"

Nrsah snorted. "I say that is all good and well, and that you should drink some fine drink for a change, instead of that Terran stuff. The only thing their swill is good for is pain thinner." In the trenches, Terran drink was often the only type they could come across, and most of that cooked in the trenches. Homebrew there was truly vile, and so strong that field medics would use it to clean wounds.

As for some of the bottled and barreled stuff— "Brother, one day you will learn to enjoy the finer things in life."

"Rum!" Kruq'nov said, slamming his fist upon the bar. The other Kilrathi sitting on stools in the Golden Krat'gh keep respectable silence at Kruq'nov's choice of the Terran drink. The first time he ordered it, the saloon's regulars did not keep quiet. One was quite vocal in his mocking, and now sported several new scars where Kruq'nov pointed out the error in his ways. That kept the regulars quiet. Once he and Nrsah began to tell the tales of war, and where they fought, that gained them respect. Repleetah has long since become a modern legend among the Kilrathi, a place where only the truly strong can ever leave.

"Keep this up, Kruq'nov, and soon I'll have no rum left," said the barkeep as he scooped up the coins offered. He was an old male, one with gray around his muzzle. He was missing an eye, though where he lost it he would not say. It could have been in countless battles against the Apes. Or, it could have even happened as younger Kilrathi ejected him from his former kingship of a Pride. Most such males are killed in the course of Thrakrik, as the newcomers will certainly kill all their male offspring. With the war lasting so long, those practices have been relaxed, in favor of simply ejecting the young males from the Pride so that they may live long enough to serve as the Emperor's cannon fodder.

Kruq'nov noticed very clearly that the barkeep did not have a cybernetic eye like the villain upon the throne. Die for the Empire! Kruq'nov wanted to laugh. More like die so the Emperor's spawn can take over Prides other, more worthy males might have possessed. That was one of the reasons for choosing a frontier world; the scions have yet to reach it, thus any male deemed worthy in the eyes of the Pride queens can challenge for the right to their Pride.

His opinion was not alone in the dingy saloon. All the patrons were veterans of one campaign or another. The Barkeep did not speak much about his wounds, but the other Kilrathi were more vocal. The one next to Kruq'nov was a gunner's mate named Sralar. He flew as a gunner on a Kilrathi bomber during the invasion of the Enigma Sector. His stories glorified the war far more than any tale Kruq'nov could tell. He spoke often enough of the Battle of Enigma, and staring into the darkness of black hole. It might have held a great deal of poetic power, but to Kruq'nov, the object was just the remains of a dead star.

On the opposite side of Nrsah, a former Third Claw named Krentr was telling a tale for the benefit of Nrsah. Kruq'nov could tell by the scowls on the other patrons' faces, this was not the first time he told the tale. It was a mildly interesting tale, one about the boarding of Niven Station more than a Shrik ago. "They were tough fighters, and if their leaders had the same resolve, far more of my comrades would have fallen to take that station. To this day, it pained me to see them not fight to the last. Killing them all would have been more sweet if it were on the battlefield and not the executioner's block."

The barkeep snorted at his story. "As I recall, the Apes blew up half that station before you could conquer it." Krentr hissed in agreement. The state of Niven Station was also the reason all the Terran survivors were executed. The legion commander killed them all out of sheer frustration.

"And how did the enemy taste?" Nrsah asked, not overly impressed by the story.

The former Third Claw snorted in indifference. "I have no idea. I, for one, would not eat the flesh of those who– surrender." The last word was not of any Kilrathi language, but one of the Apes'. It was a fowl word, but a useful one as well. Much shorter than saying 'those who gave up the battle without much struggle', or some other circumlocution.

"They never gave up the fight in the trenches," Kruq'nov told him. "The cursed Apes always liked to wait until replacements arrived. Don't ask me how they knew, but they always did. They would wait, and send out some of their own as lures. As sure as the sun rises on Ghorah Khar, the fools would charge after them on all fours."

Krentr snarled at the image. "Curse the buffoons who write our propaganda. I know what you speak of, for more than a few of the replacements in my own legion behaved as if the Apes were nothing more than prey beasts. We should send some of them to the front, and maybe these cubs would get a real view of war."

"I'll drink to that!" Kruq'nov said, and proceeded to carry out his threat. "That would be one way to weed out the inbreed genes of the high born." The last two words were said so vilely that they might have been the foulest words to ever come forth from a Kilrathi's mouth. Not a soul in the saloon disagreed. In fact, most voiced the same opinions, if not with stronger language.

The barkeep began to speak, but a motion out of the corner of Kruq'nov's eyes silenced the words. His attention turned to the figure strolling past the saloon, as if for all the world she owned the city. His brain froze as the sight of the most amazing female he had seen in all his born days passed out of sight. She was tall and shapely, her hair a few shades lighter than the typical golden fur. Her robes were ornate, made from the finest fibers Ghorah Khar could produce. Maybe even the finest in the sector.

As fast as she was there, she was out of sight. Kruq'nov forgot about all the other females he had ever known just from a few seconds upon laying eyes upon– her. In that instant, Kruq'nov knew that no other female would ever satisfy his taste. He would have traded a whole Pride of receptive females just for that one. "Who was the magnificent specimen of femininity who just walked past?"

His words broke the grousing of the Imperial Pride and the Eight as sharply as a bolt of lightning. The other patrons looked at each other in confusion. It was the barkeep, a male who never missed a mark, who understood. "Her? That would be Keitcha nar M'krah, one of the rulers of this fair city."

Kruq'nov had a name to go with a face. He growled in contentment. Nrsah had also noticed her, but since his tastes were in younger females, not only younger than his elder brother, but younger than himself, he heeded her little attention. "She seems a bit too old for me."

For his words, Kruq'nov backhanded his brother with enough force to send him off his stool. Nrsah crashed to the ground with an angry snarl. "Brother, you have no taste for the finer things in life. Young females are fine, and I would mate with them all if I could, but a treasure such as Keitcha comes around only once a lifetime."

Nrsah stared up at Kruq'nov in bemusement. He never would have pegged the gnarled veteran of Repleetah as a male to be struck by an infection of love. Emotions muddled the mind and complicated life. He had the most unsettling feeling that his brother was planning something foolish. Kruq'nov leapt from his stool and stood over Nrsah. He extended his hand to his fallen brother. "This is no time to be laying about," Kruq'nov said. For the first time since landing on Ghorah Khar, he had a goal wider than hunting and drinking.


	5. Chapter 5

**Warriors' Pride**

**Chapter 5**

**Outdoor Pavilion**

**M'krah**

**Ghorah Khar**

Kruq'nov did not enjoy the crowds, what self-respecting male would. The only plus he could note to his current circumstances is that a majority of the crowd under Ghorah Khar's bright sun were of the female persuasion. This was a far more present crush of bodies than the filthy trenches of a now dead world. He seldom spent any of his time since landing on this new world thinking about the old. Just how many of the soldiers remaining on Repleetah remained alive? He read of no accounts of the planet in M'krah's newspapers. This proves nothing, since the propagandists long since ceased their idolization of that particular battle.

M'krah sported a number of outdoor pavilions and parks, a great deal more greenery than his eyes were use to seeing. A great deal more than Kilrathi eyes were use to. The plants on the homeworld were said to be many shades of black. Green was not a color often seen. It was a color, however, that he could get use to. Most habitable worlds orbits stars far whiter than the red dwarf Kilrah lay beneath, and thus had plants of far lighter shades. To many Kilrathi, green might not be special. To Kruq'nov, it was the color of life across the universe. So sad that it took a male who has seen the face of death for more Kahrik than he cared to remember, to truly appreciate life.

Most of the Kilrathi packing the Pavilion were not there to revel in greenery, though a few did lay lazily in the shade of green trees. No, there were present to enjoy– if that is the word to use– the drama presented by one of the local acting Prides. It was a tale of the old dynastic wars upon Kilrah, many eighties of Shrik before his species ever reached for the stars. The tale was one of deceit and intrigue, of war and betrayal. In those times, several Prides vied for the top position, and wars were as common as stars in the skies of Kilrah's darkside.

Many of the locals were enthralled with the tale, but Kruq'nov just could not get interested. As far as he was concerned, it was a tale about highborn fighting highborn, and that the Empire would have been better off if they had wiped each other out. If the Ape War was lead by those with merit and not birthright, then it would have been over before Kruq'nov was ever born. He only paid slight attention to the actors upon the stage. He came to this Pavilion to observe the crowds, not the plays.

A great many of the M'krah Pride were in attendance of the play. They stood in the front of the crowd, as theirs was the strongest of Prides and the city's rulers. Had the Pavilion been flat, his view would not have been so great. As it were, he stood towards the back of the crowd, on the slopes of a gently rising hill. Or perhaps mound would be the better term. No matter what he called it, his view was superb.

Kruq'nov had no trouble spotting Keitcha, with her light gold hair. Several females around her also had lighter hair, though none approaching that of Keitcha. Sisters obviously, born from the same mother. He did not spot any aging krones with such hair, but that proved nothing. Matriarchs, the true rulers of Kilrathi society, had far more pressing matters to attend than a midday play. According to her robes, Keitcha was high within her Pride's rankings, yet she was not hard at work. What did that say about her? Perhaps only that she knew how to enjoy life every now and again.

Kruq'nov was not the only watcher in the crowd. Nrsah kept his eyes more on the younger of the M'krah Pride females, and was less subtle than Kruq'nov. The older veteran could not fault his brother, for he would have done the same thing at the same age. Almost all males of Nrsah's age had many Shrik to age before they could even think of taking a Pride. Had he aligned himself with a male of his own age, Nrsah would still have to wait. Of course, had he done so, he would likely be dead and forgotten in the trenches.

Kruq'nov, however, was not a young cub anymore. He was of the age of taking a Pride, which he had every intention of doing. A female as magnificent as Keitcha deserved to have a King as battle-hardened and tough as Kruq'nov. He would make her his queen, and if he was obliged to take all of her Pride was well, and mate with its females as they came into season– it was a small price to pay.

The drama's ending was unremarkable to say the least. Some ancestor or another of the Emperor slew his foe and won the day. "What a shock," he said to his brother with a voice dripping with sarcasm. He briefly wondered what truly happened back in the ancient days, what the Kilrah Pride did not wanting the 'lesser beings' they ruled over to know.

Kruq'nov took his time filing out of the Pavilion. After all, he did not want to miss the chance of meeting Keitcha face-to-face. A female such as herself deserved only the best, and in the eyes of Kruq'nov, only a veteran of Repleetah was worthy enough. After all, he seriously doubted the current Kings of her Pride were such survivors. He managed to learn little about them, only that they were not ground pounding warriors, and thus were not the pinnacle of the Kilrathi genome.

Near the pavilion's gateway, he found his path intercepted her's perfectly. The two stood side-by-side, a feeling so wonderful that Kruq'nov began to wonder if his brother were correct. The love virus was said to make males feel foolish, and his current feeling was just that. Planning to take a Pride was a simpler and safer action when only the business of mating was in the minds of males. Emotions– they just complicated the relationship.

Keitcha looked briefly at him, their eyes making contact. Her eyes were a lighter shade than most Kilrathi as well, with an almost bluish hue to them. Plenty of Apes had blue eyes, but few Kilrathi came close to that. Before she could look away, Kruq'nov spoke. "On all the worlds I have stepped foot upon, never have I seen such beauty as I see now." His words peaked her attention, enough so that her eyes surveyed this new, strange male. "And I declare that I would fight my way across the Terran Confederation to lay eyes upon your loveliness again."

Keitcha replied with a sparkle in her eye, a smile and slight purr before turning away to continue on her way. Kruq'nov expected nothing less, though was quite pleased he caught her attention. She would remember him. He could tell by that sparkle that she approved of what she saw. Approval was not enough, of course. To have her, he must have her Pride as well. Such was the Kilrathi way.

Interrupting his thoughts, Nrsah spoke in a hushed tone. "I must say, my brother, you make a far better warrior than a poet." With those words, Kruq'nov backhanded him across the snout, without once taking his eyes off the retreating Keitcha. Yes, he would have her, but not right now. His time in the Army taught him well that any warrior who rushed forward with Knowing what lay ahead, usually found himself laying face down in short order. He would make his move, but only when he knew what he faced.

"That is quite a palace," Nrsah told his brother as he looked upon M'krah Manor. The jagged structure covered enough ground and rose high enough from the ground to give each of the Pride's females their own chamber. Judging by the size of it, the M'krah Pride must have over an octave females among its ranks. He straightened himself to something resembling army attention upon thinking of how many of those Pride females were young and eager.

Unlike his brother, Nrsah did not fawn over a lone female. He could see the beauty that Kruq'nov spoke of– even if Keitcha nar M'krah was at least a Shrik older than himself. Of course, being twice Nrsah's age, his elder brother would not mind the age difference at all. If anything, he would enjoy the difference far more. At least with the average female. He had no idea what was going through Kruq'nov's mind concerning this single female.

"This is a Pride that will be going places," Kruq'nov noted. As it were one of the two largest Prides upon Ghorah Khar, that was a reasonable assessment. Sooner or later, the M'krah or the other one, the name eluded Nrsah, would struggle for the new name of Ghorah Khar Pride. That alone should have made it out of the grasps of common soldiers, even those who warred in an uncommon battle. Uncommon was the greatest of understatements; the Battle for Repleetah lasted longer than any of Kilrah's previous interstellar wars. Kruq'nov was there for close to half of that time.

Of course, out of the grasp was not a phrase his elder brother would recognize. "Hard to believe that only three Kings reign here." He might think the status of Planetary Pride beyond his grasp, but he never doubted they could take the three males in combat.

"Soon it shall only be two," Kruq'nov declared with the confidence of a priestess declaring Sivar's pleasure or anger. His confidence was not misplaced. From what they have learned about the Kings since that day in the pavilion, they were hardly veterans. More like functionaries, distant scions of one of the Eight Prides; scions of scions. Whichever of the Eight spawned them probably does not even know they exist.

This tenuous tie to highborn blood might intimidate many males who might think of challenging, but not Kruq'nov. Nrsah knew his brother had strong hostility to those high above his station. To those who have ran this war into the ground, in other words. In the coming Kahrik, not only will they have a Pride full of fine females with a fine estate, but Kruq'nov will have the pleasure of killing a highborn.

"Too long have the highborn taken what they wanted without fighting for it," Kruq'nov grumbled as they watched motion upon one of the verandas. Nrsah knew he was right. Common males had to fight tooth and claw to take and hold. Highborn males and scions often took what they wanted by weight of their parentage. Whoever were these Kings' ancestors would not be able to save them.

Nrsah's attention focused sharply when the roar of one of the Kings reached his ears. It sounded like an older male, one of the age of Kruq'nov, and it sounded angry. "There," he said, pointing to a large figure approaching one of the slighter ones. He could not see that far away, but she appeared to be one of the younger females. Nrsah could appreciate those. Could, and he would.

Kruq'nov hunched and began to growl at the male. "Calm yourself, brother." Only an instant after muttering the words, he would have to heed his own advice. For no apparent reason he could discern, the older King struck the female, knocking her off her feet. He stood before her, cursing her for reasons unknown. The female did not rise. In fact, she seemed to cower before the King. Nrsah hissed at that. Did that male not realize how fine his life was? He asked Kruq'nov this question rhetorically.

Kruq'nov did not see it as such. "He is a fool. Yes, that's right, alienate the Pride females." Kilrathi ruled through fear and intimidation. It was only natural, for what other means was there to establish a pecking order. Even Kruq'nov would strike his brother when Nrsah said something annoying– which never stopped him from voicing his opinion– but there was no malice in Kruq'nov actions. He even told Nrsah more than once that the younger male did more for him than any of his blood relations.

Now what the Pride King was doing, that was excessive. After he finished administrating his beating, he stood tall and let out a bellowing roar. The roar was soon followed by two more, each from the mouths of the other two Kings. "Think they know about us?" Kruq'nov asked him with a snarl in his tone. Nrsah could tell his brother was ready to pounce.

"A warrior-turned-poet is not a creature often encountered on the street," Nrsah said with a hiss of amusement. "No doubt rumors have spread. After all, females will talk."

Kruq'nov snarled a curse at his younger brother, but opted not to smack him upside the head. His attention returned to the King, strutting around the grounds as if he were lord of all creation. "If this is how he treats the Pride females, then none of them would object to our challenge." Taking a Pride involved more than simply killing the Kings. If the Pride Females were not impressed, or at least accepting, by the challengers before the battle, then no battle would take place. Being highborn, the Kings no doubt assumed no Kilrathi would dare challenge them.

Kruq'nov aimed to prove them wrong, and Nrsah would follow where he lead. After all, it was a Pride that could only grow in strength.

For one of the few times since landing on Ghorah Khar, Kruq'nov walked the streets without his brother. It was not the first time in his life he walked the path alone, but after so long with a brother to watch his back, he found being alone discomforting. There was strength and safety in numbers. As he marched down the streets of M'krah, half-robe revealing his scarred chest for all the world to see, he did not feel any viable threat would appear. Sometimes battles were won by convincing potential foes that they were not worth fighting.

Of the males on the street, Kruq'nov knew he could have killed any two at the same time with little effort. His fierce mane was enough to convince the scraggly youths and their tufts of beards to not bother him. If anything, they would rather join him. After all, he was a male who would be going places, and soon. He glared at the youths with vicious grimace upon his face. They stepped out of his path as he walked past. In the trenches, he was just another warrior, but here– here, he was a male both feared and respected.

As his brother slept off the previous night's hunt, Kruq'nov decided on an early start to the day. He learned that the M'krah Pride favors completing business during the morning, before the sun rises too high. Most business concerned the culling and butchering of beasts upon their estate, or taking of prey in hunts. Females were far more effective hunters than any male the Kilrathi genome ever produced. Kruq'nov felt no shame in this, for his physique was built to fight, not to work.

He headed towards a new butcher's shop. Not only did it pay better for spare parts than the previous one, but he also learned it was a favorite of the M'krah Pride. Once King, he would be visiting all their choice establishments, but that was still some time away. For the moment, he headed towards the shop in only slight hope of running into any of the Pride. He expected to, since the butcher said his own carcass would be delayed as they M'krah take priority over all others.

Luck was with him this morning. He entered the butcher's shop at the same time as several females of the M'krah Pride, Keitcha among them. He parted way, bowing before them. He showed more respect to these females than any lord officer. To Keitcha he spoke. "My queen, truly the sun has risen upon my day. All events until night will be but afterthoughts."

The other Pride females accompanying Keitcha purred in good humor. Keitcha joined them. "I have seen you around M'krah, but have yet to learn your name."

"I am called Kruq'nov," he told her.

"Rise Kruq'nov," she said with a smile. "I am not so highborn that you must stare at the ground. You are new to our city, are you not?" The way she said 'our city' spoke volumes of her status. M'krah truly was their city, their property, and lesser Prides lived in at as vassals and at their sufferance.

"It is true," Kruq'nov rose to his full height, which was a head above the females. There might not be much size variation within the genders, but a Kilrathi male was far larger and a bit taller than the females. He noticed the other females eyeing him, looking him over. "I, and my brother Nrsah, have recently left the field of battle." He would not boast of his deeds in front of these females; the scars on his body tell of his valor. Besides, deeds are only for boosting while in the company of fellow veterans, and over good drink.

"And how goes the Terran War, Kruq'nov?" asked another of the females, one with the same pale golden hair as Keitcha. Born of the same litter perhaps? Certainly of the same mother.

He knew what many Imperial officials, as well as media and lord officers would tell her. Even recent recruits in the army, indoctrinated their whole youths, would say the same. Instead, Kruq'nov would speak the truth, for civilians certainly needed to here it. "Slower than it should."

Most of the Pride females wished to hear more, but the one in the lead, older than the rest, with gray both on her muzzle as well as her robes. "Come, my sisters, we still tasks to attend to." Her tone was not reproachful, the way some elder females would be when their youngers spoke to a male not their King. Her tone was that of a female who wished to finish the day's choirs before the sun rose too high in the sky.

"You must excuse us, Kruq'nov," Keitcha said. "As my sister says, our morning remains busy. No doubt we shall see you around our city again."

Kruq'nov bowed again as the females departed. He could hear Keitcha's voice as they receded. "If only our own Kings were so cultured," she made little attempt to keep her voice low. Nor did her sisters keep their agreements quiet.

As he entered the butcher's shop, he noticed from the corner of his vision that more than one female looked back over their shoulder at him. He hid a smile within his mane. Yes, when the challenge was made, the Pride females would certainly not refuse it. This Kahrik was shaping out to be the best since he left K'n'meth.


	6. Chapter 6

**Warriors' Pride**

**Chapter 6**

**M'krah**

**Ghorah Khar**

"Are you ready, brother?" Kruq'nov asked Nrsah at the threshold of one of M'karh's fancier saloons. It was built near the center of town, where the better-off Prides lived. Whoever designed the place had an ancient fortress keep in mind more than a place where a Kilrathi could obliterate his worries with strong drink. Being in the wealthier part of the city, poor and low-based Kilrathi were actively discouraged from entering it. Most did not even bother venturing into the neighborhood, much less laying eyes upon the establishment.

At midday, when the sun pounded the ground from its zenith, many males have crowded into the saloon. Kings of wealthier Prides, males with nothing better to do in the middle of the day. In the lower rungs of society's ladder, males who take a Pride usually earned it the hard way. By the looks of some of the Kilrathi inside, they did not. Kruq'nov scowled at all of them in disgust. "They are so complacent."

Nrsah noticed the same. "They would not last a single day in the trenches with that lack of situational awareness." Kruq'nov could not argue. These were Kings of the higher rungs, ones who did not expect a challenge to just stroll in off the street.

Kruq'nov judged the attitude as most unfortunate, for he planned on doing just that. The instant he crossed from outdoors to in, several pairs of eyes shifted to him. None of the gazes were in the least bit friendly. The saloon's interior was decorated with Imperial paraphernalia, such as banners, propaganda posters, and even a portrait of the Emperor. It was the sort of place only a scion could enjoy. Kruq'nov would take the dingy saloon not far from his apartment, with its war souvenirs, over this trap. It might as well be a colonial office.

One of the office's guards swiftly approached Kruq'nov. He was around the old Second Claw's age, perhaps a Shrik younger. His eyes were fierce with anger and the promise of pain. The lack of scars upon his face or arms did not back up this promise, not in Kruq'nov's view. He was nothing more than a ceremonial guard, one who has never seen combat. Did he fancy himself an impersonation of the Imperial Guard? "You do not belong here!" his growl carried an air of finality.

He might have thought himself equal of the Imperial Guard, but Kruq'nov would prove him wrong. Only the greatest of warriors had the honor of transfer to that legion. Even with his own loathing of the Imperial Pride, Kruq'nov recognized the honor as high. Far higher than a simple saloon peacekeeper could aspire. When the guard pressed his muzzle into Kruq'nov's face, the veteran grabbed it tightly in his left hand, claws fully extended. He gave the guard a short, sharp shove, sending him flying into the nearest table, and sending the table's contents shattering to the floor.

When the guard made a move to rise, Nrsah was upon him with a savage kick. The kick would have broken bone had he been wearing army issued boots. Instead, he had to settle for the claws on his bear feet cutting into the guard's ribs. The guard snarled curses at Nrsah, only to receive another kick and another. Kruq'nov restrained his brother's enthusiasm as another Kilrathi approached them. She was an old queen, likely the matriarch of the Pride who owned the saloon. As Kruq'nov's eyes adjusted to the darkness, he could see the gray-haired queen approach him with the confidence and air of a legion commander.

"I thank you and your brother to not cause my Pride any trouble and leave," the old female spoke as if she were announcing an Imperial decree. For her, it was such. After all, matriarchs ruled their Prides no less so than the Imperial Pride ruled the Empire.

Had she been a male, Kruq'nov could have answered with a slash across the face and throat. As such, he was forced to take a more diplomatic approach. "Honored queen, our trouble is not with your or your esteemed Pride, but with a male named Shrok, and his males in tow."

The matriarch growled menacingly at him. She knew she could not beat him in a fight, but her honor would not be satisfied any other way. She took a moment to assess Kruq'nov and Nrsah and the threat they might pose to her own offspring. Males were in the habit of killing male cubs when they took over a Pride. Seeing that Kruq'nov's ambitions were far higher, she jerked her head in the direction of Shrok. "Over there. Take your fight with him elsewhere."

Kruq'nov smiled viciously. "I intend to." He and Nrsah walked past the old female without another word. Other males in the saloon looked suspiciously and anxiously at the two. They flattened the peacekeeper, a male who probably fancied himself a tough fighter. The Apes would have tagged him his first day on the front.

Kruq'nov found the three males sitting at a table in one of the darker corners of the saloon. The table was big enough for eight, and naturally only the three sat there. Shrok sat looking away from Kruq'nov, with his back to the door. Kruq'nov bristled at the insult. Did this male think himself so immune to challenge that he did not even have to keep his eyes open. He would pay for his hubris. He would pay most severely, then he will die.

"I seek Shrok," Kruq'nov declared, towering over the siting Kilrathi.

Shrok did not even bother to look up. "What makes you think he seek you?" he asked, taking another drink.

In fury, Kruq'nov slapped his hard in the hand, sending the tankard of drink crashing into the nearest wall. The King whirled at this, bolting up to his full height, around the same altitude as Kruq'nov. His two brothers joined him, kicking back their chairs to stand. Kruq'nov growled in the King's face. "You have something I want."

"I have something a great many males want," Shrok spat back at him. He took a second to finally survey the Kilrathi who stood before him. A scarred veteran. "I've heard of you," he growled in recognition. "You're the male who has been sniffing around my females."

His words struck Kruq'nov in the heart. The very thought of this– functionary, this scion, in the bed chamber of Keitcha, it was enough to send him into a frenzy. He was a male unworthy to breath the same atmosphere as Keitcha, much less touch her. Kruq'nov would like nothing more than to sink his own teeth into Shrok's throat. He held back his own killer instinct. That time would come, he must be patient.

Other patrons of the saloon muttered amongst themselves, all paying attention to this standoff. For the moment, it appeared little more than a distraction in an otherwise uneventful day. Did these upstarts truly believe they had the right to challenge those clearly above their station in life. In a word, yes, Kruq'nov did believe as such. "I am Kruq'nov, and this is Nrsah. We say that you are not worthy of such females."

As one of the younger Kings made a move to flank them, Nrsah stood poised, with all his claws out for the world to see. The city-dwelling scions, or whatever these Kings were, did not even notice the scarring around the claws of one of his hands. They were so unaccustomed to war, that they failed to spot the tiniest detail. On Repleetah, that mistake alone would have killed him.

Shrok ignored Nrsah, considering the younger male beneath his notice. He thought the same of Kruq'nov, but had little choice but to spend his time facing him down. "You are new here, so you don't know who I am. I fought with the fleet in the Tanhausen Nebula, killing more than two-eights of Ape fighters."

By the snarls of agreement from the rest of the patrons, they must have heard his stories more than a few times. It was a mild surprise to Kruq'nov, who had him pegged as a staff officer at most. He knew one of the faces of war, good. They also expected his prowess in space to impress the newcomers. They were about to be disappointed. Taking a half-step closer to Shrok, Kruq'nov announced his own accomplishments. "We are veterans of Repleetah."

Just uttering the name of such a legendary battle brought a quick hush over the saloon. The silence was so complete, that Kruq'nov's ears picked up the sounds on the street. He spotted a flicker of doubt in Shrok's eyes. The soon to be former-King just realized he has bitten off more than he can swallow. He knows that Kruq'nov has ever intention of challenging him and his brothers for the M'krah Pride.

Kruq'nov was not about to disappoint. "And we demand Thrakrik," he sealed the challenge with four claws across Shrok's face.

**M'krah Battle Arena**

Every city in the Empire had its own battle arena. The stadiums were constructed sometimes from local stone or high quality steel, depending on the local's wealthy. Sometimes, they were nothing more than pits in the ground. M'krah sported what would have been a small arena by the standards of Kilrah and the worlds of the Eight. It was a stone structure built in one of M'krah's parks, large enough to house a few eighties of spectators. It was used for blood sports, as well as formal challenges.

Less than eighty were in the arena now, all of them the more prominent females of the M'krah Pride. They accepted the challenge more readily than their Kings. Both Kruq'nov and Nrsah were considered worthy males, though Nrsah was a bit on the young side, and both would be accepted as Kings if they are victorious. If? Kruq'nov wanted to laugh at that. He knew they would win, but did not allow his confidence to evolve into arrogance. Just because victory was certain did not mean he would take it for granted.

He stood next to his brother, on the opposite side of the dirt pit as the Kings. "Three against two." He said with a muse.

"It is but a temporary imbalance," Nrsah replied. Kruq'nov could see the eagerness in Nrsah's eyes. He was ready to kill. After all, how often did a male of his age get the chance to be a King. Most young males would have to wait two or more Shrik to even risk it. Nrsah was no common male. The trenches of Repleetah matured him greatly, as well as toughened him like fire tempers a blade.

"Do not grow over-confident, brother," Kruq'nov advised. "Celebrate victory after our enemies are dead at our feet."

Nrsah gave Kruq'nov a shocked look, as if he thought doing anything else were insane. "If I learned anything from you, it's not to leap before you look. I see the younger King, the one on the left, he is not so sure of himself. Killing him will even the balance."

Kruq'nov saw the same uncertainty, almost hesitation. Perhaps he gained his position on the tail of his older brother, and had not expected to defend his Kingship so soon. They could, naturally, run from the fight. Should they do that, not only would they lose the Pride, but not a single Pride female would ever except a challenge from them again. At least not on Ghorah Khar. They would have to leave the planet and start anew, always looking over their shoulder for the disgrace that my haunt them.

Kruq'nov eyed the other two males. "You stay away from Shrok; his life is mine."

Kruq'nov's attention turned towards his audience. They were all fine females, a Pride he would be more than pleased to call his own. He caught the eye of Keitcha, who watched with great interest. Perhaps greater than her sisters. Kruq'nov's desire was for her, and her alone. The rest of the females, they were just a bonus.

As the time of combat approached, he scrutinized his foes. The younger two showed no sign of ever experiencing a real fight, one where the enemy intended to kill you. That worried him more than it would most males. Apes appeared unimpressive, but their minds made them dangerous. Could these males be planning tricks of their own. Even their leader, Shrok, was not a figure of awe. Wearing nothing but a half-robe, Kruq'nov saw no visible scars on him. That proved not as much with a fighter pilot as it might with a ground pounder. Still– Kruq'nov dug his toes into the sand, anxious for the battle to began.

With a wave of her hand, the M'krah patriarch, the battle began. Before Kruq'nov could land upon Shrok, Nrsah bolted straight towards the weaker of other males. He bolted on all fours, either oblivious or indifferent to the level of insult that offered. His target need not feeling insulted for long. In the space of eight blinks, he pounced the male and sank his teeth into his throat. It was the kill of a masterful hunter, one who should have succeeded far more often than Nrsah. Unless– he was holding back so Kruq'nov would do all the work. He would have to hash that out with his brother, after the fight.

With one male already dead, and an excited buzz in the crowd, Kruq'nov knew he would not have to worry about a knife in the back. Figuratively speaking, of course, since unnatural weapons were forbidden during Thrakrik. Nrsah, blood dripping from his snout, looked for his next victim. Shrok shifted his own attention towards Nrsah, surprised at just how fast the younger challenger killed one of his brothers. Shrok's shock turned to rage. He charged at Nrsah, roaring for vengeance.

He never reached Nrsah. Kruq'nov barreled into him, knocking him off his feet. Before he could stomp down on the King's neck with all his weight, Shrok rolled out of the way and pushed himself from laying to standing in a single move. A pilot's reflexes, no doubt about that. They would do him little good in a ground fight against a ground pounder. Kruq'nov lashed out at him, hand open, with enough force to take the head off an Ape. Shrok leapt back, the claws sailing harmlessly in front of his face.

Instead of waiting for another slash, he grabbed Kruq'nov arm while still outstretched. He gave a great yank and side-stepped him. Shrok attempted to get behind Kruq'nov and rake his claws across his throat. Kruq'nov counted with an elbow to the snout, hitting the King with such force that teeth broke. The hit should have staggered most, but Shrok was quick to shake off the daze. He saw Kruq'nov's other hand slashing at him. He dodged again, only not as fast as before. Claws ripped into scalp, taking a chunk of fur off his head.

Shrok did not even flinch. Kruq'nov had to give him credit. He might have carved out a niche in society thanks to an accident of birth, but he fought like a warrior to hold on to it. It accomplished little more than buying him a moment more of life. Shrok did not waver from the fight. He lunged with claws extended, intent to kill in his eyes. Bloodlust filled his eyes, clouding his judgement. Had the King fought one who was not a veteran of planetary combat, he might have won.

Kruq'nov dropped below the grasping claws with a twist of his ankles. The move risked injury to his feet, a dangerous move in the middle of a fight, but was well worth the risk. Shrok sailed harmless over his head, his momentum carrying him too far. Kruq'nov thrust up with his claws brought as close together as possible. The natural spear penetrated flesh beneath Shrok's rib cage, granting a killing blow directly to the heart.

Shrok let out a mighty roar. Not one of pain or fear, but one of rage. His eyes told the whole story. The King did not wish to stop. He did not want to die for fear of it; he did not want to die, because he wanted to live long enough to kill the challenger. His face was one of furious disappointment. Kruq'nov marveled how much the express was the same as an Ape full of hate and rage. Kruq'nov gave a quick, sharp yank, removing his hand and letting the body slump to the ground.

With his opponent dead, Kruq'nov remembered the third King, the youth left to Nrsah. Both he and Nrsah were cut and bloody, both ragged with breath. Kruq'nov circled the two, waiting for his own shot at the last King. "Hold, brother!" Nrsah snapped. "I will finish him."

Kruq'nov took a step back, ceding the battle to Nrsah. If his brother should falter, Kruq'nov remained posed to pounce and end the battle. He would not enjoy rising so far, only to lose Nrsah right at victory's doorstep. Imperial propaganda speaks of sacrifices that win battles, but dying only moments before the enemy is defeated is a fear that lives among all who fight on the ground. In a final act of desperation, the last King threw himself at Nrsah, knocking both to the ground.

The two rolled across the dirt, locked together with claws and teeth. Thrashing lasted for only a moment. Kruq'nov hissed in pride and delight as Nrsah disentangled him from the mortally wounded King. He had not much time left, not with the amount of blood pooling beneath his body. Nrsah delivered a deep gouge across his throat, opening it for all the world to see. Not as clean a kill as his first, but just as effective.

Kruq'nov surveyed the carnage. It was unlike any of the fights in the trenches. Thrakrik was brutal, but it was quick and decisive. No more running back and forth between trenches, capturing one, only to abandon it the following day. The days of ambiguous battles lay behind them. With his enemies dead, the Second Claw now found himself a King of the M'krah Pride. With a might roar of triumph, Kruq'nov welcomed himself home.


End file.
